


Code: Project AURORA

by Judyku



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Cannibalism, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Infection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2019-11-07 09:33:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 32,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17957987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Judyku/pseuds/Judyku
Summary: “Speaking of our Sleeping Beauty.” Lakshan gave his beam everything he bloody had even as he killed Matiass a thousand times in his head. "Patient 424 has shown remarkable progress since you were last here. How she has adapted to The Countess is truly miraculous. She began to show evidence of dreaming which is, as you know, very important for neurological functionality.""Dreaming." The man mused. "What do you think a woman such as she dreams of, doctor? What do the Claire Redfields of the world dream about? Will she be worthy of The Countess, do you think? Tell me what you know of her."





	1. One Night Only

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, my juicy readers! Happy RE2 remake and to celebrate this glorious piece of gaming brilliance, I dug through 15 years' worth of files in order to find a story I toyed with over a decade ago. I've dusted it off, twisted it, and turned it around, and turned into this.
> 
> Since my health has much improved of late and I'm no longer under constant medical supervision, my other fandom stories will receive updates over the next few weeks. So, for now, I'll simply leave everyone to enjoy the up and coming chunk of lunacy I cooked up 15 years ago.
> 
> Jude xxx

Title: Code: Project Aurora  
Author: Me.  
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Just using these very fine characters for my own dastardly deeds.  
Warning: EXTREME violence and gore.  
  
  
xxxx  
  
  
  
She dreamed of a theatre, all big and curved high ceiling decorated with intricate spirals and cherubs that wore gold leaf and crowns of daisies. Cupid was there and looked glorious as he held his bow and arrow at a pair of star-crossed lovers with an ocean between them.

The balcony boxes were filled with the upper crust and while the light lay dim, she could make out the gowns worn by the noble ladies. Pearls shone iridescently and diamonds sparkled, silk gloves covered their graceful arms from finger to elbow. They were all magnificent in their splendour and clapped quietly, appropriately, so as not to detract from the performance about to begin.

Her eyes tracked a pillar and tried to read the writing, but it was no use. Not enough light and the pillar was so far away from where she sat, down in the front row. On the floor and far away from the nobility.

All the rear rows at the back were full and she could see each and every one of them. Zombies swayed with decay and atrophy, while the Tyrants stood indestructible in their determination. Dogs played roll over with the lickers, and the puppies were without fluff and fur but groomed themselves regardless.

The rows grew emptier the closer they got to the stage, and the people differed. Luxury and opulence didn't exist down here on the floor and nobody wore the finery of the nobility. Such things were not meant for those on the floor.

No.

They were sombre in their attire. Suits of charcoal and dark grey, with unpolished shoes and aged skin that wrinkled from a lack of elasticity. There were no black suits, of course, and the gowns were muted shades of berry and wine. They were all the same down here and it was okay.

Of _course_ it was okay. Let the nobility look at us in disgust. She wasn't here to see them anyway. She was here to see somebody else.

Somebody whose name was whispered behind hands and fans alike. Somebody who catered to all crowds because the nobility couldn't keep her out of reach. Somebody who couldn't be controlled by anyone or anything.

One Night Only, they said.

Just for you.

So here she was, in a theatre that was as packed as it was empty and her eyes turned to the stage. How exciting it was to be here and to see that lone microphone stand tickled her senses and she knew this was to be spectacular because nobody breathed.

They all waited, just like she waited. Everyone on the edge of their seats until a low murmur moved through the crowd.

The curtain began to rise.

The wait was over.

A hush swept through and this was it.

This was history in the making. One night only and just for her.

Claire shook in her boots and inched forward in her seat, her knuckles white from the force of her grip on the arms. God, but it was too much, and she had waited _forever_ for this.

And there she was.

Hair blonder than blonde that fell in rolled waves down to sculpted shoulders and she was so beautiful. It hurt to look at her, but Claire looked anyway and was mesmerised by the quiet power that emanated from the slip of a woman.

"Ooooh..." Went the monsters.

"Booo..." Went the nobility.

The Lady walked forth, she smiled as her arms gracefully opened in a welcome that warmed Claire right through to her very bones.

"I thank you all for coming, my beautiful audience. Now, my dears." The Diva looked at each one of them in turn, but not the nobility. Never the nobility. "I was to perform Queen of the Night aria, but there appears to be a change of plan. I hope you will forgive this creature."

The nobility clapped and whooped with delight, and Claire glared up them, appalled by their total disrespect.

"How can you be so ungrateful?" Claire stood, gaze on them up there. The upper crust. "This performance is one night only. A special performance just for me. So just... Sit down and shut up."

There.

That told them.

If she only had one of her guns, then she could really teach them some damned manners.

Then she realised as she stood there, both hands on her hips, that she had also interrupted the Diva, and oh. Oh. Talk about a helluva faux pas to make.

Claire tried to make it right. "Just... Well. That's all I wanted to say."

She had been noticed now and she could see the Diva's attention wholly on her.

The silence hurt more than when she'd been shot the first time.

"Come here. I wish to look at you." The Diva gestured to her right. "Do hurry up, dear. I've not got forever."

Laughter murmured from the monsters and the nobility hissed and booed. Quieter this time, but loud enough to be heard.

" _Me_?" Claire licked her arid lips as she subtly glanced around. Made a point to ignore the noble crowd. They just weren't worth her time. "Why? I'm nothing special. I'm just Claire. Claire Redfield."

"Then approach me, Just Claire Redfield." The Diva was everything gracious.

"I'm here." The spotlight made her eyes hurt. "It's wonderful to meet you, Madame. Really."  
  
Amusement sparkled deep in the glacier blue eyes of the Diva. “An honour for us both, I believe. I have much gratitude for you, dear.”   
  
Heat burned her face just enough and Claire gave herself a quick fan with her hands.

"Now.” The Diva beamed out at the monsters and ignored the nobles. “Answer me this, Just Claire Redfield. If a red house is built with red bricks, a blue house is built with blue bricks, and a black house is built with black bricks. What is a greenhouse made from?"  
  
The riddle was a surprise, sure, but she knew the answer well enough. “Glass.” Claire nodded, so _sure_. “A greenhouse is built from glass.”

"Well, you do have something between your ears, Just Claire." The monsters roared this time and the nobility hung their heads. "A plane is flying across East and West Germany when both engines cease to work. The plane unfortunately crashes. Where are the survivors buried? East Germany or West Germany?"

Oh!

She knew this answer, too.

"You don't bury survivors." The round of applause from the audience was mind blowing and elation ballooned in her chest to leave her breathless and wide-eyed. A child on Christmas morning. She gave her very best curtsey to acknowledge the audience. Her audience. The Diva’s audience.  
  
"I know a good one." Claire flashed her best and brightest smile at _their_ audience. Purposely turned her back on the nobility.

The Diva arched a regal eyebrow. "Do you indeed? I will hear this riddle from you, Just Claire."

She would? It was one thing to be invited on stage with The Diva, but this? This was something else. Okay, okay. Deep breaths. Don't fuck this up and turn into Woody Woodpecker or Porky Pig. This was it. This was her big moment and she would ace the fucker or die trying.

Time to drum up some anticipation. "Are you ready for it? Okay, here it is... Rich men want it, poor men have it, and we die when we eat it."

Only silence this time and it stretched Claire's nerves tight as could be as she stood there, under the Diva's shrewd scrutiny.

Tried to cover her blunder. "I see we have a tough crowd here tonight."

The noble ones laughed and cackled, but the monsters stood silent.

Those bottle blue eyes went from her old combat boots all the way up over her worn jeans and a stained tank top. The Diva spoke not unkindly. "Is that what you are, Just Claire? Nothing?"

Elation turned to concrete in her stomach and it began to weigh her down. Down back into the empty front row centre stage seat.

"What? No!" Claire defied gravity to stay where she was and that pull on her feet grew stronger, harder, yet still, she resisted. Dug in her heels and glared at the Diva.

"I don't understand? You invited me up here and you're pushing me back down? You want to make up your damn mind, lady. I'm no-one's doll."

"You said it yourself." Diva's words inspired laughter from the audience. "You are nothing, and because you are nothing, nothing is what you eat. Ha!"

Gravity began to loosen its grip. "The hell I'm nothing." Claire rolled her shoulders and met the Diva's gaze without a flinch. "You hear me, lady? Find someone else to be your damned puppet."

Diva nodded in approval. "There is hope for you yet, Just Claire Redfield. I suppose you will do."

"I will, huh?" Claire cocked her head in a way that made the monsters cheer. On her side again, were they? Good. The nobles could keep their mouths shut, too. She didn't need the likes of _them_.

"Now, do be a dear and wake up. Put an end to this wretched nonsense."

Claire felt her own lips curve and curl and she smiled a crocodile’s smile. "Putting an end to wretched nonsense is what I do best."

And just to finish off, she bowed deep to the noble ones and slowly straightened just enough to see her brother’s face disappear behind tragedy.


	2. Spin Doctors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who gave me a Kudos and a special shout out to Why Why Not for the comment!
> 
> I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint :D

Chapter 2  
  
  
xxxx  
  
  
"I must say, doctor Bhandari. Your work is excellent."

That voice that spoke of the highest level of education and the facade of calm was one adhered to by many in many of the upper classes.   
  
Etiquette.   
  
That’s what it was.   
  
A code of conduct on how to behave in public and avoid exposure to ridicule. The outward calm was the expression of a man’s inner character and courtesy was the most important one of all.   
  
Courtesy was imperceptible until there was a stark absence of it. Then it became far more than poignant. It became about damage control. For every action, there was an equal and opposite reaction. Courtesy was simply another way to minimise consequences that arose from actions and words said in a poor light.   
  
_ You could live in a man’s house for forty years. Share his meals and his property. Speak on every subject. Then tie him up, and hold him over the volcano's edge. And on that day, you will finally meet the man. Only Matiass can’t see the volcano for his psychosis. Gods. _   
  
Courtesy tempered with authenticity became powerful allies when a man found himself trapped with people such as Matiass. Good manners had been what stood between him and death under the very worst of circumstances. A death that, the brother of his patient would agree, he so justly deserved for his part in this latest act of bioterrorism.

"How you flatter me, doctor Matiass." Lakshan focused solely on the comatose woman in front of him. Used his thumb to flip through several pages of her chart, each change and shift in vitals mentally noted before he was satisfied. “You remain in excellent health, Miss Redfield. Fit as a fiddle is what we say in the U.K. You’ll be pleased to hear your hair is growing back nicely after your treatment while the cuticles still retain their wavy texture. The soft tissue damage has been repaired courtesy of the Countess. We’ll cross any bridges as and when we reach them. Continue to get some rest, Miss Redfield.”   
  
He was aware, more than aware, of how intently Matiass took in the patient’s looks, and for one eternal moment, the doctor wondered if he would have to kill a man with his own bare hands.   
  
Lakshan stayed where he sat, at the end of the bed, and hid his caution with encouragement. “Doctor”

“This is her metamorphosis. Her pupa. Her beauty will transcend all those who came before her. You agree with me, doctor Bhandari?” Aric Matiass looked on through a hooded gaze and lips emaciated enough to show a glimpse of putrefied teeth.   
  
“Yes, we can both agree on that. Miss Redfield does have quite the flair about her.” He kept his gaze completely off of his employer.   
  
“It will be interesting, I think. To see how well she’s taken to the Countess.” Matiass brushed skeletal fingers through the auburn strands of the patient’s hair. “If this works as you planned, I hope you’ll consider my offer more thoroughly.”    


Lakshan covered his thick swallow with a scratch of his stubble. “I’m not a man who puts the cart before the horse. Disappointment isn’t something that suits me.”   
  
“Humility.” Aric approved, and gods. The Kuru was so prevalent in every move the older man made.

Kuru was a condition Lakshan refused to treat. Especially a virus-tainted variant that he had no stomach to waste precious time and resources to treat it successfully. Kuru was a disease Matiass thoroughly deserved.   
  
The IV drip.   
  
That had to be adjusted now, didn’t it? A quick glance at his patient’s chart confirmed it was now time to increase the fluids in order to keep up with her heightened physiological needs. Her caloric intake would need to be increased, but that could be dealt with in time.   
  
“Pardon me.” Lakshan eased the dose up and flicked the drip until he saw with his own two that it did what it should.   
  
He could feel the eyes of his employer watch every move he made. Those eyes with nothing behind them, that he refused to make full contact with. He did not want to see what manner of evil festering silently inside Matiass. Not now, not ever.   
  
Matiass wore his disease like a badge of honour and displayed all the mannerisms of a noble gentleman. "Not at all. I do not take precedence in this matter. Your attention to detail is such a rare commodity these days, doctor Bhandari. I will see to it you receive adequate compensation."   
  
Lakshan’s blood crackled with iced heat deep in his veins. Good to know the only thing needed for a Christmas bonus was to infect a woman such as Claire Redfield with the very virus he had created.

Happy thought indeed.

"Really, doctor Matiass." Lakshan faced the man with a smile full of humour and thanked his gods his bedside manner was legendary. "There's no need to push the boat out, you know. This is my job, remember? That you already paid me for? I can well afford a bucket of KFC."

A white lab coat protected the $26,000 dollar  Ermenegildo Zegna Bespoke suit, but they were just clothes. Clothes couldn’t change a monster into a man and Aric Matiass was a monster. A monster neatly wrapped with goals and matching pocket squares.   
  
There was little in life more terrifying than a man like that.

"Ahh, yes. K.F.C. The true north of the great American peasant." Thinly veiled disdain dripped down like acid from the monster’s tongue.

Lakshan gripped his privileged upbringing with every bit of strength in his bones and he tried to tap into what passed for Matiass’ twisted form of pity. “And us bachelors.”

He should have kept his bloody gob well shut.   
  
His employer looked at him, those eyes grew keen with an intrigue that lit up the maddened depths and Matiass head slid to one side. Those thin lips lost the soft edge of humour and became something else entirely.   
  
“Unattached. Yes. Yes, you are.” Matiass murmured low and his gaze…   
  
Gods, that gaze made his skin bloody crawl, and no. Shiva, no. Don’t let the man take the path that began to form.   
  
“Perhaps…”   
  
Lakshan couldn’t look away for love nor bloody money, and he knew. He bloody knew where this would go and he would be buggered if he allowed those thoughts to so much as manifest. Still, he had a role to play, and play it he must or earn an awful lot of suspicion in a short amount of time. “Perhaps…?”

His employer continued to regard him. “You could have the honour of her hand. Court Miss Redfield.”   
  
_ Oh, hell’s bollocks. _   
  
“Marry Miss Redfield? Me?” Lakshan allowed good humour to shroud the revulsion that coiled in every nerve he owned. “I’m afraid I have to disappoint you on that. My parents are looking for my perfect match as we speak.”   
  
Aric Matiass flushed a flush that turned his skin putrid, almost jaundice. It was clear the man felt the insult wound deep. “I see.”   
  
“And in truth?” Lakshan turned on his unrequited love for Maggie Gyllenhaal. “I’m not worthy of The Countess. I’m not you, doctor Matiass. I’m just a 31-year-old man who orders far too much K.F.C. I wouldn’t dream of exposing The Countess to the life of a boy my age.”   
  
Never did he pray as hard as he did right then. To smother the snub with self- flagellation and flattery. Eighteen months in this godforsaken place and he had offhand flattery down to a bloody T.   
  
Matiass blinked himself out of whatever insane daydream he lived. “Oh. Oh, doctor Bhandari. You must forgive a foolish old man. I didn’t mean to suggest… I find such things vulgar. Of course your parents are looking for your bride.”   
  
Lakshan waved the man off. “Think nothing of it. You were simply looking to further your vision. No harm done.”   
  
_ Not to me and not to my patient. Now to change the subject. Forgive me, Miss Redfield. _

“Speaking of our Sleeping Beauty.” Lakshan gave his beam everything he bloody had. "Patient 424 has shown remarkable progress since you were last here. She began to show evidence of dreaming which is, as you know, very important for neurological functionality."

"Dreaming." The man mused as he slipped his hands into his pockets. "What do you think a woman such as she dreams of, doctor? What do the Claire Redfields of the world dream about?  Will she be worthy of The Countess, do you think? Tell me what you know of her. "

"What I know of her?" Lakshan blew out a breath and adjusted his position on the patient’s bed. "Not much if I’m honest. I did a handful of her amateur motorsport races not so long back. She did very well to gain a podium position. She has her brother's skill in many areas of combat, as proved by her ability to survive the outbreak in Raccoon City and surviving her imprisonment on Rockfort Island. Beyond that? I'm as in the dark as you are."

Luxury loafers made little noise as the man approached the sleeping woman and brushed a strand of hair away from her forehead. "So, brave and resourceful. A risk taker who applies experience to opportunity. A woman. She will be remarkable. My vision and your prodigious skill will achieve a great many things, doctor Bhandari. Miss Redfield is merely the beginning for us and with The Countess on our side… Well, I don’t think I need to tell you how bright the future shines for us."

Matiass stroked one dewy cheek with a skeleton’s hand, each finger void of muscle tone and fat, every knuckle visible beneath decrepit flesh. “Delicious. So delicious.”   
  
Nausea was unique in how it felt like a rubber balloon full of air that slipped and slid from gut to oesophagus in a single second. That balloon expanded and contracted and pressed down on the back of his throat, and Lakshan swallowed hard, but it did no good.   
  
His patient was being assaulted in front of his own two eyes and he couldn’t do a bloody thing about. Not if he was going to get them both out of here alive. He was just so bloody grateful Miss Redfield slept deeply, blissfully unaware a monster    
  
Pressed gently against the beautifully healthy face of Claire Redfield as she slept, blissfully unaware a monster touched her with all the reverence of a desperate supplicant.   
  
It was only by the very grace of Shiva himself that Lakshan held himself together. He’d done many despicable things in his time working for Aric Matiass. All under subtle threat, of course, but that excuse had worn thin. 

He would sooner add to the death toll under his name than allow Miss Redfield to fall being the Bio-Organic Eucharist Rite.   
  
_ I think. No. I  _ **_know_ ** _ it’s time to lea… Is that the electrocardiogram? _

The fluctuations in the monitor alerts brushed every ounce of good manners into the lavatory and Lakshan was on his feet in seconds. “Bollocks… Pardon me, doctor Matiass. Non-verbal signs of pain. I must ask you to vacate while I tend to my patient.”   
  
"Of course, doctor. I expect hourly updates on Miss Redfield’s condition."   
  
Never in all his years had Lakshan heard a gait sound anything like the footsteps of Aric Matiass. The man had so little muscle tone in his legs that it was impossible to lift the feet. Where one took a step, the other dragged.   
  
Step-drag, step-drag, step-dragggg.   
  
It was enough to understand there was no time left. Matiass would need food soon and since the fellow’s stocks were reportedly low…

His fingers rasped over his stubble as he rubbed his mouth and waited for the electrocardiogram to give its results.   
  
It was all perfectly normal. Not a single sign of the non-verbal pain signals from mere moments ago and so Lakshan turned to ABSTRACT.   
  
There was nothing.   
  
No tachycardia or bradycardia, hypotension or hypertension, arrhythmia, no signs of oedema, internal haemorrhaging.   
  
Everything was perfect.   
  
“I’ve seen a few hypochondriacs in my time, Miss Redfield.” Lakshan ruffled his hair. Panic over. “But you just about gave me a bloody heart attack.”   
  
Unless…   
  
Oh  _ bollocks _ .   
  
xxxx   
  
A tsunami of adrenaline rushed through him, some senses dulled and others grew sharper, more focused. His heart rate increased two-fold and his brain went straight to mapping out an escape route. His breath turned shallow as charts slipped and floated out of shaking hands, and landed on the patient herself.   
  
“A minute. Just a bloody minute.” Lakshan squeezed the bed rail until all knuckles turned white against his olive skin. He had to stop, had to take a breath and get a bloody  _ grip _ . His chin dipped down to his chest, eyes tight shut as he slowly took control before he went into respiratory distress.   
  
_ Okay. Okay. I’m alright. This is how it’s supposed to go, innit, mate? Induced coma, chemotherapy, transplants of Peripheral Blood Stem Cells and bone marrow from the donor Tyrant, give to patient, wake patient up, escape, get to the FBI. In that bloody order. _   
  
“You make a good table, Miss Redfield.” He tried to keep it light for both of their sakes and spread several pages worth of history out for an undeniable side-by-side comparison.   
  
His shaking made it almost impossible to mark off key points and changes in her vitals. He clicked his dictator on and made a point to use her name. No more patient 424.

“The date it June 7th, 2009, and time is 10:59:00. Miss Redfield still retains elevated neurological activity. Pupillary responses are above average. All non-verbal signs of pain and distress dissipated as the threat of doctor Matiass was removed. This indicates Miss Redfield has a heightened degree of awareness and is able to process activities within her immediate surroundings.”   
  
Lakshan pressed the recorder so hard against his head, the ache spread white-hot from one ear to the other. He continued.

  
“Before exposure to Paclitaxel and Doxorubicin, Miss Redfield displayed sleep spindles and K-complexes as she entered stage two Defined NREM sleep. Sleep spindles and K-complexes displayed again on entering stage four REM sleep. Patterns of sleep behaviour show no discernable elevation of vitals as those I have just witnessed. It is my belief that my patient is coming round. I will administer a high concentration of Zolpidem in order to assist her emerge from her induced comatose state. I have little time remaining to get both Miss Redfield and I to my bunker on Coney Island. I can’t afford to fail. I can’t afford to have my C-Veronica virus to fall into the wrong hands. May all the Gods be on our side. This is doctor Lakshan Bhandari, PhD. The date is June 7th 2009. The patient is Miss Claire Redfield.”   
  
Time get a move on and get the hell out.


	3. Twisted Sister

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, a huge sloppy snog and a boatload of love for Why Why Not for both comments! I hope I don't disappoint you as I have a terrible habit of being overly dramatic at times. It's an area of mine that needs some major improvement.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter that sets up some relationships and lays the land. I'm gonna have so much fun with the pissing contest between Chris and Leon!

Chapter 3

  
xx  
  
  
He could hear them all out there.

  
The hushed murmur of a crowd that slowly filled the press room of the BSAA headquarters with reporters and news crews. Then there were the sounds that came from equipment. Lights and cameras waited for action, microphones waited for him to speak.   
  
No, not speak.   
  
Beg.   
  
That’s what he had to do today.   
  
Beg for his sister’s safe return. Plead for his sister to remain unharmed. Say his sister’s return would come with no questions asked.   
  
That last one was a lie, he knew, but it didn’t make a fucking hint’s worth of difference. He had to say it just to placate the kidnappers sense of safety.   
  
Not that kidnappers had taken his sister.   
  
Chris Redfield wasn’t that naive. 

No, Claire had been targeted by somebody for some reason. Abducted from her home eleven weeks ago and there was nothing to go on. No fingerprints, the two blood types found belonged to her and a dead man in her garage. The dead man came back free of any criminal record.

Not even so much as a fucking ticket and with the accessibility of cosmetic surgery all over the world, they hadn’t been able to pinpoint him in any yearbook.  
  
That wasn’t some random ass kidnapper.   
  
That was done by a professional. Somebody who watched her day in and day out, monitoring her each and every move as they waited for the right time.   
  
Now she was gone and he had to swallow what was left of his pride, go out there and have millions of people listen as he fucking _begged_ .   
  
A woman with curly blonde hair stood in front of him and Chris stared at her, wordless.   
  
“We have one shot, Mr Redfield.” The blonde’s face wore severity well. “Don’t hold back. Tell them everything about Claire. Use her name as often as you can. It humanises her. Talk about the struggles you had as a young man left to raise a young girl. Talk about how you rescued her from the Gardner’s foster family hell. How you put her through college. Everything, sir. Leave nothing out. The more people we appeal to, the more who identify with you, the better it will be.” 

Chris nodded or he thought he nodded.  
  
“Gardner foster family hell? What’s that mean?”   
  
“It was a long time ago, Sherry.”   
  
Jill and Sherry.   
  
Right, yes. They were there with him, and so were Rebecca, Barry and Leon. He could see other faces. Ones that he didn’t recognise, but all wore red and white Ducati team colours.   
  
Claire’s colours.   
  
Those were the faces of Claire’s amateur MotoGP teammates.   
  
His vision swam and the room spun right on its axis, his gaze landed on the frame that held a stunning photo up for all the world to see.

Claire's storm-grey eyes, _dad's_ eyes, sparkled with reflected light as her auburn hair, mom's hair, tumbled down past her shoulders. Her hair was so long, the waves so damned messy, that she always tied up away from her face, but would never get it cut.

That photo could well be the last image taken of his sister, that could be her last fucking smile.

"Oh, Christ..." Vomit ballooned in his gut and Chris just about made it to the closest bin before he let loose.  
  
He couldn’t do this.   
  
Couldn’t go out there and tell the fucking world and beg.   
  
Fucking beg.   
  
_I’ve blasted fucking mutants in the face with my fist. Nut punched Wesker. I won’t beg. I will not fucking beg to get my sister back. How could I let this happen? I’m supposed to take care of her. Give her the life I never got to have. And I’m supposed to beg._

Chris wretched on the bitter taste of bile, his hands gripped the desk by the bin until he dry heaved up failure and helplessness.

"Shit, shit." He spat and wiped his mouth, only to find a gunmetal grey flask appear in front of his face.

"You look like you need some of ma's home cookin'." Kennedy looked just as tired, just as worn, as the rest of them and it made Chris want to roundhouse the fucker through a window.

The fuck did Kennedy know about his sister, anyway? Nothing, that's what. Probably less than nothing.

Chris pushed the flask away and snatched one of the free bottles of water provided to them by Ducati who wanted their star money maker back.

"Just trying to help." Leon sighed. "We miss her, too."

Contempt curled Chris' mouth up and he side-eyed the former cop. "You miss my sister. When was the last time you called her just to see how she was doing? Congratulated her on another podium or starting a vaccine drive and getting those wells for the Masai tribe?"

Kennedy closed his dumbass mouth.

"What I thought." Chris turned at the feel of a small hand on his arm.

Rebecca's face greeted him with a forehead wrinkled with a frown. "Jill and Miss Greeley. It's time for the press release. Claire's team manager Martin and her teammates will go after you and Jill, then Barry and I will go on last with Sherry and you, Leon. If you want."

Chris looked away when Kennedy gave Bec a sharp glance. He didn't want to hear the pretty boy pipsqueak squeak one damn word about Claire and how they were the best of fucking friends.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head.” Chris rinsed his mouth and spat into the bin. "My sister's got plenty of people to speak up on her behalf. No need to put yourself out."

The Agent's jaw flexed. "I didn't mean..."

"Whatever." He dropped the water back onto the table and made his way to where Jill stood, with Claire's red leather jacket clutched under one arm and that dumbass spleen stuffed teddy bear.

Chris hated those damn toy organs Claire collected. Spleen, that fucking worm appendix, pancreas... He'd shred every last one if he could, but the look on his partner's face...

Shit.

It felt like a kick to the nuts. A sister forward slash mom whose kid had been taken right out from under her nose.

And those eyes of hers were locked onto that big, full HD photo of Claire who stared silently back at her.  
  
He saw it before it even happened. How Jill’s cheeks puffed out and how her lower lip pooched out mere seconds before stomach jolted.   
  
The scream that came from her mouth was like nothing he’d ever heard. Grief and trauma all mixed in with that uncontrollable rage that left the throat raw and pulled the ribs so tight around the heart, it made a person want to rip it open with their bare hands.

“Chris… Oh. Oh _god_ , Chris…”   
  
And he was there with her, pushing his partner’s face into his chest to muffle the torment. Claire’s scent washed up from the jacket and that damn stuffty, and smacked him in the face with everything it had.  
  
Chris leaned his forehead onto hers. He should never have let Jill go into Claire’s house first. She would never have seen…   
  
He swallowed, but had no time to comfort her when Lucy Greeley discretely got his attention from the other side of the stage.   
  
The woman pointed to her watch and he nodded.   
  
It was time to go do some begging.

  
  
Xxxx

  


The room was packed to where news crews stood like sardines at the back near the wooden double doors, while the first three rows were occupied by NBC4 Washington DC, WJLA ABC 7, and WUSA.  
  
Chris felt their eyes on him, knew the camera lenses were honed right in on his face so they could capture every fucking minute of his personal hell. His teeth itched and his patience began to stretch just a bit too thin as he kept his gaze low and away from the ghouls watching from the comfort of their own homes.   
  
“I first met Claire when Chris walked into Raccoon City police department.” Jill’s dulcet voice rang out and the coarse rasp to her throat could be heard, and what fucking more did they want, huh?

Blood? Cos there was plenty to be had in his sister’s garage.

His partner smiled as she played the perfect heart broken soldier by smiling up at that hated photograph. She turned back to the vultures. “There they were. Little Claire Redfield with these big grey eyes and scrawny arms. Claire had a suitcase. It was this ugly thing too big for Claire to carry, but she wouldn’t let go of it anything. Claire didn’t tell me for years what was in that thing. Only that it was the only man she would ever marry.”  
  
Chris squeezed his thigh hard enough to hurt.   
  
Jill cracked just as she was supposed to crack. “I had all the usual suspects lined up. Johnny Depp, Keanu, Keifer, and I’ll never forget the moment she opened that damn suitcase. Claire open her suitcase and there was this tiny picture of a, and I’ll never forget, 1979 Harley Davidson Electra Glide FLH-80.”   
  
Chris concentrated on his breathing.   
  
In and out. In and out. Nice and slow.   
  
“Then when I asked Claire about boys…” His partner gave a low whistle. “That was the moment I realised Chris and Claire were special, you know? Chris froze and Claire just looked confused. Claire needed an older woman in her life and nobody could walk away from that. I’ve been half in love with that little girl ever since. So, please. If you know anything, anything at all, then please…”   
  
Yeah, Chris was about done with this bullshit.   
  
“No.” He raised his head. “I won’t sit here and beg and plead for my sister’s safe return. My sister has been gone for ten weeks and we all know kidnapped victims die within the first twenty-four hours. So no. I won’t sit here. I won’t _spill my fucking guts_ while some bastard gets off on it.”   
  
“Chris…” Jill stared, mouth wide open.  
  
He shrugged off her hand and stood, his gaze roamed every single shocked face in their audience. “No, Jill. I won’t do it. I won’t beg and plead. I’m not a fuckin’ dog. I won’t sit here while my sister is-is… I’m done with this shit. I’ll find her myself.”   
  
“Chris!” She said again, louder this time and the desperation that laced her tone brought his entire world screech to a halt.   
  
Claire.   
  
His heart fucking exploded against his ribcage and ever move he made felt slow, almost heavy, as though he was wading through glue. He turned, ready to have his sister in front of him, that damn cocksure smile of hers in its place as she arched an eyebrow up at him.   
  
_“Seriously, bro? Ten weeks?”_ She would say and he would open his arms and there she would be, alive and not a scratch to be seen.   
  
“Sir? We need to speak with you, sir.” The stern face of Lucy Greeley was there with what appeared to be concern written into those lines on her face and Chris opened his mouth, but nothing came out.   
  
His chest hurt. Oh, fuck did his chest fucking hurt and it was getting hard to breath and his heart just kept getting faster and faster. He couldn’t hear anything over the sound of his own blood flow and he tried to move, to shake it off just like always, but he couldn’t.   
  
“Sir… Medical assistance. We need medical assistance here now...”   
  
Chris reached out, delirious, but there was nothing and his hands kissed air. This was it. This was how he died, and of a fucking heart attack of all things. Talk about anti-climatic bullshit.   
  
It was some consolation, he supposed, to die on television. The ratings would go up and more people would the shit out of this and Claire would be found…   
  
Shit.


	4. Sleeping Beauty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The awakening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge and very grateful THANK YOU for all of the Kudos left by guests!
> 
> Why Why Not, yet again another very fitting comment! I will assure you that my beloved Chris Redfield isn't dead, just one big ass panic attack. Ssh. Spoilers!
> 
> Kathsg, thank you very much for the request and because you asked so nicely, I hurried to get chapter 4 done just for you!
> 
> I can't forget to mention my fantastic beta-reader and helper with this story. Jake, you know who you are. You're a bloody diamond geezer, mate, and don't let anybody tell you different!
> 
> I hope this done doesn't disappoint and please, please keep the comments coming. I'm an attention seeker desperate for validation LOL

Title: Code: Project Aurora  
Author: Me.  
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Just using these very fine characters for my own dastardly deeds.  
Warning: EXTREME violence and gore.

 

Chapter 4: Sleeping Beauty  
  


xxxx

 

It was the noise that woke her up.

A loud, almost choking noise that ground and grated and turned every nerve into livewires that directly streamed heightened awareness straight to her brain.

Other noises could also be heard. One was the unmistakable sound of breathing laced with agitated anticipation. Hiding away under layers of intensity was a thumping percussion that rapidly increased in speed and volume until it sounded like thunder in her ears.

She opened her mouth wide as it could go and relished in the cool flow of oxygen that went straight to her lungs. She smacked her dried lips together and rubbed her tongue over her palette until moisture formed. Her parched mouth became an oasis full of stuff that was like nothing she’d ever had before.   
  
Salt. She could taste salt in the air. Nervousness, too. Anxiety and desperation and exhilaration all mixed together into a molotov cocktail infused with adrenaline, and god, fucking god. It made her so fucking  _ hungry _ .   
  
She wanted to grab handfuls of it and cram every last bite into her mouth and swallow it whole. All the despair and heartbreak and shame and regret. She wanted to suck all of it up and savour it before she went back for seconds.

Claire let her eyes roll and pinpointed the sound of her ruffled hair as her head lolled first to one side, then to the other. Her neck and shoulders burned white hot with every motion she made. Every joint in her body felt stiff, unused, and her arms felt like they were full of helium, all floaty warm and lighter than air.   
  
She struggled to get her arms under control, but her fingers wouldn’t grasp hold of anything. Tried to push herself up, only to have her elbows buckle completely under her own weight.   
  
Then there was a man above her face.   
  
Dark curly hair hung down around exhausted brown eyes and a defined jaw decorated with what the cool kids called designer stubble. His well-kept appearance whispered wealth and privilege while a private anguish subtly chipped away at the surface.   
  
“Please, Miss Redfield.” Came his cultured voice. Definitely one of the rich boys. “I need you to stay calm for me while I unhook you. Can you try to do that for me?”   
  
_ Ohhhh. He's the source. He can feed me. _

Her hands might not be able to push her up, but they sure as shit could take tight hold of his shirt and grinned. His heart rate jump started hard in chest, sending a sudden spike of unease that went soul deep.

Claire pushed her face right against his jugular and flicked her tongue out to taste all of that flimsy human skin. The astringent from his cologne, how his pulse bounced fast off her lips, and all it would take is one bite.

One single bite and there would be nothing between her and that pretty red river in his veins. His skin was slick under her teeth, supple, and so very warm. She nipped and sucked and tasted and it still wasn't enough.

"Hun. Gry."

"Your name is Claire Agatha Redfield. You are 27 years old. You have been under my care for the last ten weeks."

The motion of talking made it awkward for her small human teeth to get a good enough grip.

_ Do be a dear and cease this ridiculous display of wanton savagery. _

There was a short pause before her prey began to speak. Longer this time.

"Your name is Claire Agatha Redfield. You are 27 years old. The name of your elder brother is Chris. You have been under my care for the last ten weeks."

_ "Claire. Claire Redfield. I came to find my brother, Chris." _

And again.

"Your name is Claire Agatha Redfield. You are 27 years old. The name of your elder brother is Chris. You right motorcycles and you have been under my care for the last ten weeks. Your name is Claire Redfield..."

Claire's head tilted back to look at the man, a frown wrinkled the skin between her eyebrows. "I'm Claire. Claire Redfield. I came to find my brother, Chris."

The familiarity hit her hard and she felt herself falling backwards through time until she landed in her own body.

_ Am I trying to eat a doctor? _

Claire stared up at the strange man with the air of wealth about him and meekly let go of his shirt. "I- Who are you?"

Relief closed the man's eyes and made his shoulders sag, his exhaled breath came out slow and long, and packed full of double-strength espresso.

Again he spoke. "I need you to remain calm while I unhook you. Too much time has already been wasted. We'll have to hurry if we want to go."

Go?

"Go where? I don't understand. I don't even know who you are. I don't know where the hell I am."

It was a struggle for him to keep his impatience in check. "I know things must be very confusing for you right now and I'm sorry for that. If we go now? We can walk right out the front door with no fuss. So escape first, then I'll answer any question you have. I promise."

Claire licked her drying lips. It was the best she could get in the circumstances. 

"Alright." She gave a nod that took her gaze back to the soft, lean skin that covered his jugular. Stared at the faint outline just long enough to make him wary. "Water. I need some water."

"I'll get you some water after we're on our way."

Did he dare to tell her no?

She inhaled a good, long breath and held it as she clenched a handful into a solid fist. She would be calm and still. Peaceful for now. "Alright. Water after."

Sincerity oozed out of his every pore as he spoke to her. "I won't let you down, Miss Redfield. I swear."

She would go along with him, play it out, and the moment he turned on her?   
  
Well. 

_ I’ll simply punch a hole through his heart. _   
  
  


xxxx

  
  


Claire let her body sag against the closed door of the tiny supply closet. Her legs still shook and an odd sort of numbness could be felt in her knees ankles, while her arms were more or less good to go.   
  
She could hear him talk outside. To who, she didn’t know, but there was death out there. She could smell the decomposition and rot slowly consume what had been brought into her room and took her place in that bed.   
  
Her ribcage became a vice around her heart and lungs, with a balloon of pain increasing inside. It grew and inflated until it was hard to breathe. Rage and agony built and crawled up her sternum to tickle the back of her throat, her mouth opened in a silent scream.   
  
Claire slammed her fist down hard onto her thigh, teeth sank deep into her lower lip as the back of her head thumped the door.   
  
_ How did I get here? I was at home. In my garage. I just want to go home and see my brother. Oh god. Chris. He’ll be so worried. _

She knew something was wrong. Something had been done to her in here, but she didn’t know what. Something that wasn’t a hundred percent true.   
  
I’m not stupid. I’ve had experience enough with the monsters. I’ve seen what they can do. How X found me in that station. How he knew where to look. How Wesker seems to predict every single step.

Claire took a deep breath, held for five, and exhaled and scrubbed her face. Get out of here first, and then she would deal with the rest.

She untied the hospital gown and bent to put on the simple black pants. They were a little big around the waist, but slightly too short at the ankle. The long-sleeve blouse came next and she offhandedly admired the little embroidered flowers that lined the cuffs. Black ballet shoes and white lab coat came last and all in all, it was the perfect outfit for a Nine To Five intern.   
  
_ Jill calls them sexretaries. I think she’s watched too many bad pornos. _   
  
The thought of Jill stopped her in her tracks and she wanted to be back there, on the night when she first got fibre broadband installed. She felt like she’d conquered the world and Jill was there and they’d streamed the worst kind of movies for hours. Bad seventies porn with plumbers and moustaches, B-rated monster movies, and 80’s kids’ TV.   
  
_ Three days. That’s how long we were holed up at my place. Three entire days until Chris came. Practically broke down the door. His face when he saw the porn. ‘The fuckin’ hell is this?’ Please let me wake up on my couch covered in Taco Bell. Pricey shit, but worth it just to see Christopher Redfield burn. _   
  
If she was anybody else, she would stop thinking about her brother and her family, her friends. She would push them to one side and focus solely on herself and survival. People would tell her to do that. To not think about anybody else. To only see what was right in front of her, but she knew different. She knew better.   
  
To forget about those who loved you was to forget the reasons why you want to live. Not just survive, but live. Truly live. Once those people and those connections were cut off, then isolation turned from foe to friend and that’s where things would start to go bad.   
  
Her friends, her family? All those she fought to defend and get back home to see? They were what made her strong. They were what kept her knees from buckling. And despite the gut instinct that told her death would be merciful, they were what kept her from turning that damned hospital gown into one long noose. She would keep going until she couldn’t.   
  
_ When you can’t run, you crawl. When you can’t crawl, you find someone to carry you. _

With those fighting words, Claire balled up that would-be noose and walked out of the supply closet. The strong odor of decaying flesh went straight to the back of her throat, but she held her head high and gratefully took the doctor’s offer.

“Your water, Miss Redfield. As promised.” He swapped the bottle for the gown and dropped it into the waste paper basket, then slid a box of matches out of his pocket. “Once the fire alarms go off? We’ll have exactly eleven minutes and thirty-two seconds to reach the upper level. Then precisely four minutes to get out of this hell hole. The health and safety features I put into place will see us long gone by the time the contamination alerts go site-wide. Tyrannos is waiting for us in the car. Don’t forget your wig.”

Claire nodded. Didn’t bother to ask who this Tyrannos was. Instead, she opened the bottle of Evian and downed as much of the icy cold liquid as it took to get rid of the biting aftertaste of sedative. Then set about fixing the platinum blonde wig firmly into place.

“Don’t throw the bottle away.” The doctor said, his tone sharp and expression grim. “It needs to be burned into uselessness.”   
  
A tight, knowing smirk tugged at her lips. “So somebody was done to me. Now I know. Which one is it this time, doctor? Or maybe you cooked one up in your downtime. You know, make it special just for me.”   
  
_ One night only. Just for you. _

His flinch was so damned satisfying to see, yet she caught a micro-smile that flicked the corners of his mouth up.

"I deserve that." The doctor agreed. "You can give me your best when we're safe in the car with Tyrannos. Now let me just set this to burn and we’ll be on our way.”

Claire stood back as he sparked up two matches and dropped them onto the hospital gown, then three a wad of rolled up papers into the fire.   
  
“Bloody burn.” He hissed as he snatched up a duffle bag and slung it over his shoulder. “Fire alarm in three, two, one…”   
  
The instant the smoke touched the detector was the instant the whole place went wild with an ear-splitting noise that blitzed her eardrums straight into hell.

“Remember what we talked about.”   
  
Claire heard every word crystal clear and followed him out into her own personal nightmare.  
  
  
xxxx   
  
  


“It’ll be alright, Miss Hadley.”   
  
“Ahh, yes. I’m rather fond of chicken wings myself, Miss Hadley.”   
  
“Have you by any chance read any works by Dean R. Koontz? I stopped being a lover of James Patterson over his exploitation of ghost writers who earn a pittance in comparison.”   
  
On and on went his ability to make small talk about anything and everything. He kept it up, using a voice full of charm and old world chivalry that came complete with a guiding hand on the base of her spine as he lead her into the stairwell.   
  
“Just you hold onto my hand, Miss Hadley.” The doctor encouraged. “We can’t afford to lose such a lovely young lady to smoke.”   
  
Claire was about to break his fucking arm when a door clicked open and a handful of people began to ascend with them. “Thank you, doctor. I’m so lucky to have met you when I did. I don’t know what I would have done with you.”   
  
His hand was warm against hers. “It’s my honour, Miss Hadley. And please, call me Lakshan.”   
  
She gave her best giggle. “Then you must call me Saffron.”   
  
Brown eyes filled with a mirth that momentarily chased the exhaustion from his face. “I had the pleasure of knowing only one other Saffron. Though she was not so pretty as yourself, of course.”   
  
She summoned the will to blush as much as she could. “Oh! Don’t be saying such things, doctor. I mean Lakshan.”   
  
“Doctor?”   
  
Claire felt Lakshan freeze behind her on the stairwell, his hand tightened around her side, and she swallowed, instantly ready to dole out some damage to anyone who got in her way. And she was highly capable of reigning damage down and maybe, just maybe, she was more capable than ever if her hunch was correct.   
  
“Fred.” The doctor greeted in a way that was both respectful and wary. “I’m sincerely sorry for the loss of your daughter. She was a wonderful young woman.”   
  
Curiosity got the better of her and she glanced sideways to see this Fred. See if he posed any sort of danger to them, but all she found was a portly man with eyes that were haunted and dead.   
  
A living zombie, she thought with no small amount of feeling and the empathy came second nature to breathing.    
  
She tried not to read him like she had with everything else, tried not to stuff the poor man with labels and descriptions that belonged on infomercials. Yet it was all right there in front of her face, filling up and overwhelming her senses with a heartbreaking energy that she couldn’t turn her back on.   
  
She couldn’t stop it so she didn’t even try.   
  
“You lost your daughter, sir?” She placed a hand on the man’s arm. “I am so sorry. It’s not something any parent should have to face.”   
  
Fred didn’t so much as blink when he looked at her. “Thank you, young miss. And you are?”   
  
Claire ducked her head in timid meekness. “Saffron Hadley, sir. I hope you’ll forgive my premature presumption in offering my condolences.”   
  
“No, no. Not at all. It brings me comfort to know so many people thought highly of my little Janet. I just- I just wish…” Fred’s voice cut into a soft wail that only matched the distress in his gaze that focused yet again on her face.   
  
“Fred?” Lakshan asked gently. “We have to exit the building now, mate. The fire alarms…”   
  
“You have Janet about you, young miss.” Fred didn’t hear the doctor. “I should… No, I don’t think I will. I can spare thirty minutes, doctor Bhandari. When I return to my post. I will give you thirty minutes before I activate the contamination procedures. Just… Get the young miss out of here and away from that-that  _ thing _ .”

“You know.” Lakshan surmised, but Fred was already gone. Driven completely inside of himself and that haunted expression returned to turn his face blank.   
  
Claire watched him go with her heart on her sleeve and hatred in her chest. Once she was on her feet. Once she had her brother and Jill by her side. Once she had those she loved standing with her?   
  
_ I’m coming back here and I’m going to blow this place to nothing. _   
  
“Come along, Miss Redfield. We’re almost there.”  
  
He hurried her the rest of the way up the stairwell and out through a door, with all the others simultaneously trying to see if they could find and escape the fire.   
  
“Matiass?” Claire kept her head down as Lakshan directed her down the hall to where a T junction appeared and oh. Oh, sweet nothings, but she could see it and smell it and tasted.   
  
Daylight.   
  
Actual and whole broad daylight spilled down from just around that corner. There was a lot of grass outside, but no saltwater, so they were nowhere near the ocean. Birds could be heard and she wanted to forget the plan and shrug him off and run for her fucking life.   
  
“Yes, Matiass.” Lakshan gave her the side-eye. “Almost home free. Just a few more steps. That’s all.”   
  
Claire wondered if he was speaking more to himself than he was to her.   
  
Her feet rounded the corner and the pull of freedom tugged hard, made their feet move faster and faster until the wind hit her face.   
  
Lakshan’s plan worked.   
  
They were out.


	5. Witness This

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this is a few days late. A friend needed my help in filling for another model who had unfortunately been hit by a drunk driver. The woman is fine, albeit bruised and achy. It was the first time in seven years I wore a corset and oh did I *ever* feel it! The first shot taken after the outfit changed? The photographer had to keep telling me to sit up straight! I might link to the photos if any of my readers are interested in my other work :D
> 
> Just to reassure folk. Yes, this story *is* Cleon, they just have a few kinks to work out along the way.
> 
> I also need to thank every single person who has left me Kudos. I can't see all of your names for some reason, so I'll do my very best to stay on top of it so that you can all share the love. Thank each and every one of you xxx

Title: Code: Project AURORA chapter 5

Author: Judeku/DeadlyFriend  
Rating: Explicit in later chapters. Extreme violence and gore.  
Warning: Major character death. 

 

Chapter 5.

  
XXXX

People said words were things that couldn’t hurt.  
  
That sticks and stones were what broke bones, but words were just that. A bunch of letters spoken in a pre-arranged form. That was all they were and what were letters, anyway?

A part of an alphabet. Something every culture owned. Ancient Egyptians used hieroglyphs while the Vikings used the runic Futhark. Like everything, language evolved over centuries to become what it was today, and while each country had its own spelling, the fundamentals of an alphabet remained the same. They all had an A and a B and a C.  
  
But it was a lie.  
  
Words did hurt and words could turn somebody’s life upside. Four words, for example, could throw one little girl and one teenage boy into the unknown.

There’s been an accident.  
  
Four words made up of eleven letters all arranged to deliver a soul-destroying blow in the kindest way possible. Four words used to subtly say _your parents are dead and they’re not coming home_.

Claire hated those words with every fibre of her being.  
  
_There’s been an accident. No, asshole. My parents were killed because of some dickhead who ran a red light at eight at night while driving in icy conditions._

She often wondered if her brother heard those same words, but she never asked and he never told. Not that it mattered. The outcome would still be the same and her seventeen-year-old brother would still drop out of school to join the air force in order for them to have some kind of income.  
  
She had been taken into foster care. That had been some fun and games. The Gardners. What a pair of cocksuckers they turned out to be, but at least they were in jail and in jail they would stay until they died.  
  
The scream of Philip Gardner ran through her head. To hear the husk of a grown man’s voice turn shrill, almost babyish in his agony…  
  
Well.  
  
Claire bit her tongue to keep the laughter at bay and let her head flop onto the passenger seat. She sighed and glanced at the car’s clock to see how long it had been since their escape.  
  
Three hours.  
  
Given the speed at which the doctor drove, she quickly calculated there were roughly two-hundred-and-forty miles between them and that place. Road signs along the way pointed their former location as Colorado, and now they neared Aspen.  
  
And yup.  
  
There they were.  
  
The Colorado Rockies and her mouth fell open as the car drew ever closer, and pushed the mountains higher into the sky. She could see the snow paint the peaks and ledges a pure white, and it wasn’t hard to imagine how it would sparkle under a setting sun.  
  
_Naturally. My first time in Aspen and it’s not what I wanted it to be. I’m not here learning how to ski with my partner and kid. I’m fleeing the place where I was held captive, in a getaway car driven by the very doctor who infected me with the fuck knows what, and a Tyrant hidden under a blanket on the back seat._

“Penny for them.”  
  
Claire blinked and the doctor’s face slowly swam into view. “Pardon?”  
  
“Your thoughts.” He tried to smile, but it fell flatter than a racist joke.

“I’ve never been here before. Aspen. It just makes sense that it would be an escape route.”

Her reply appeared to make him awkward enough to scratch his head and cough as a light blush lit up his olive complexion.  
  
“My family.” Lakshan shifted. “We have a cabin here. It’s a good little earner. Especially December through March. I did plan on going elsewhere, but we can go there if you like. We keep spare equipment to hand for those who gain confidence by watching. You know. Ones who have never seen snow except on the telly and who have only seen snowboarding on Youtube. but don’t have any equipment. Snowboards, skis, snowshoes, snowmobile.”  
  
Claire pursed her lips and tried to figure him out. One minute, she could easily take him for a humble beggar, and the next, he held all the air of somebody born with a silver spoon in his mouth. Yet here he was again. Prepared to loan out equipment to the folk who went to resorts with family and friends, but were wary until they saw others participating in the sport.  
  
“I fail to work you out, doctor Bhandari.” She raked her hands through her hair and looked at him with a good amount of measure.  
  
He sighed. “We’ll stop for some food and petrol, nature’s call, and we’ll have at it. I’m sure you have questions…”  
  
“ _Questions?_ ” Disbelief poured off her tongue in a waterfall of what the fuck.  
  
“To put it mildly.” Yet another attempt at outreach fell dismally short of the mark.  
  
Claire shook her head. “Questions don’t begin to cover it. I don’t even know what day it is, let alone what you did to me.”

Shame washed over the man’s face, but he didn’t once take his eyes off the road. “My gods have condemned me for my sins, Miss Redfield. I’m fully reconciled with that. Not that there’s much comfort in it for you.”  
  
“That’s something we certainly agree on.” Food was another, it seemed, and her stomach almost snarled at the mere mention of it. “Food, gas, bathroom, talk. In that order. You lie to me even once? I'll know."

"Understood." Lakshan cleared his throat. "You might want to put your wig on. Just in case."

Claire nodded. "And what about your friend back there? What do we do with him?"

"Tyrannos is good. Aren't you, Tyr?"

A slight movement came from under the blanket and Claire turned her head just in time to see an expressionless face peer out from under it.

The Tyrant looked right at her, those opalescent eyes that were so familiar as to disrupt her sleep on and off throughout the years. Now here she was, eyeballing the same creature who once stalked her throughout an entire city.

She swallowed but tried to offer up some sort of communication with the monster of her dreams. The only word to leave her mouth was the standard "Hello."

Tyrannos blinked once, then hid back under his blanket.  
  
"Oohhhhkay..." Claire blew out a breath and looked at the doctor. "Do I even want to know why you have a Tyrant buddy?"

"He, uh, he isn't _my_ Tyrant, Miss Redfield. He's yours."  
  
  
xxx  


They pulled up to a Kum and Go, and the moment Claire opened her door was the moment the smell of food punched her straight in the face.  
  
She could make them all out, too. From the crispy chicken tenders to the corn dogs and fresh pizza, from the cookies to the egg rolls and the Angus bacon cheeseburger. They were all there and whirled around her in a soft breeze of total temptation.  
  
The entrance to heaven was almost there at her fingertips and saliva flooded her mouth in preparation for a feast of goodness.  
  
Warm fingers slid down to grip the back of her collar and a hefty tug propelled her backwards. Away from the door. Away from the food. Away from everything that was good and right in the world.  
  
“Wha… Hey, you skeezy little asshole!” Claire secured the wrist behind her and twisted just enough to make him let go.  
  
“Ow…” The doctor stared at her, surprised. “I was just going to give you some money! Since, you know, Shoplifting is frowned upon in civilised society.”  
  
Money?  
  
She sucked her lips inwards and thought about apologising, but why should she? Instead, she held out her hand expectantly, pleased to see a hundred bucks cover her palm.  
  
“I’ll get a full tank of petrol.” Lakshan gave her an odd look. “You get enough food for us _both_ to eat.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah.” Whatever. Like she would let people starve or something.  
  
Claire rolled her eyes and passed through the front door without incident this time, where she took a moment to inhale everything on the menu. It was as though a chorus of angels surrounded her very soul and threw food while she stood there with her mouth open.  
  
Thankfully there were only a handful of people in line, and that her the time necessary to check where the security cameras were in order to pass by each one in order to show her face from every angle. If she knew her brother, he would be on the hunt for her, and the more traces she left, the better her chances would be.  
  
Camera in the top left-hand corner checked. Bottom right corner checked. Then came the one right above the front door, and finally the one by the cashier. She paused and looked directly into it as she made a point to confirm her identity with a smile.  
  
Chris would know even if others wouldn’t.  
  
Now it was on to purchase food.  
  


xxxx  
  
  


So there he sat like a fuckin' outcast in a family room at D.C's Medstar teaching hospital. The soft weight of little Sherry Birkin tucked up safe and sound under his right arm, while Moira held his left hand even as she leaned against her pa to give and receive comfort.

Jill kept herself with only the occasional movement to remind him she was still in the room. Barry was a damn reflection. All of them made silent by two people who meant something different to each one of them.

It wouldn't be a stretch to imagine a sign above the door that read Here Be Miserable Fucks With No Life. Enter At Your Own Risk.

To say the shit hit the fan today was a freaking understatement, to say the least, and he had to give Redfield credit where it was due. If a man had to have a full-scale panic attack, then live television was the time and place to do it.

And do it Chris really had.

The scene had been replayed over and over as it steadily gained more traction and attention from other news outlets. Last he heard, the man's whack job made it all the way to Youtube.

_I'll volunteer if Ellen calls. Make our operation look good at least._

Fuck, but his head throbbed from sleep deprivation and stress, and he was tempted to ask for some acetaminophen. Or Valium. Or straight up Ativan. Hell, he'd bong up an ounce of Kush right now. Anything to liberate him from this fucking shit show. Anything to stop that damn picture at the press conference that flashed in his brain every twenty seconds.

Sherry shifted beside him, her voice a soft whisper. "You okay, Jill?"

Leon evened out his breathing and kept perfectly still, relaxed. Uneventful. If there was talk to be had here, then he sure as hell wanted in on it, and he knew from recent experience his appearance made them all clam tighter than a hooker's pussy at the sight of ten bucks.

"Mostly. It's been on the cards a while. Chris is like a brick wall most of the time, but his sister? She's a big fuckin' crack, you know? For me, too."

Claire was gone. Taken right out of her fucking home. No leads. No fingerprints. Just a body's worth of blood all over her garage. The spatter pattern dictated it came from some serious blunt force trauma to a skull. No weapon found that held the same blood type and nothing came up on record as a DNA match.

_I'll blow Wesker myself before they leave me outta this. Claire’s my friend. We went through shit together._

"Have any good stories? From when you knew Chris and Claire before." Sherry whispered.

It was too damn easy to imagine little Claire Redfield as a scrawny kid who was always up to no good. A little firecracker who gave her big bro the runaround.

"Well, shit. There was that weird ass time when they were big on mud wrestling."

Fuckin' mud wrestling? Leon forced his eyebrows to stay still. She never told him about that.

"Mud wrestling?" He felt Sherry's eyes turn saucer-wide as her voice increased in pitch. "Chris and his _sister_. Mud wrestling."

"Oh yeah, kid. They used to sell tickets billed as Raccoon versus Pittsburgh. The whole station lapped it up."

He could see the elder Redfield pulling off that racket, but _Claire_? Firecracker or no, she was the sweet Redfield. The nice one who liked to help. The one who was the epitome of human decency and Christmas candy canes or something.

_She'd look hot as a candy striper. I got a couple of pillows she can fluff._

"It's all true." Barry's gruff voice held a tone that didn't quite fit with the truth. "Hell, even Wesker would lay down a couple o' hundred bucks on Raccoon."

"But who was Raccoon?" Moira asked.

"Chris," Jill replied just a tad too quickly for any of it to be even halfway true.

_Bastards know I'm awake. They know I'm listening. They won't say shit._

And that just pissed him off to no end. Made him feel like they didn't trust him too much, and that was just a kick in the nuts.

"But..." Sherry began. "I thought Wesker hated Chris? I mean, he's always trying to kill him, right? Right?"

"There's a fine line, kid." Barry fielded that one like a god damn pro.

"He kept a pair of Chris' tighty whities in the bottom drawer, you know. Unwashed."

_Okay, now they'd gone just too damn far. That was the grossest shit Valentine ever said and somebody had to put an end to this fucked up game of ick._

"Bullshit." Leon set his gaze on Jill, who simply smirked in his direction.

"I knew it!" Moira accused her dad. "I knew you were lying!"

Barry raised his hands. "Worth it just to see you two get moon-eyed over a star-struck love story."

"And it's still better than Twilight." Sherry flopped back against him but kept her gaze on Jill. "You're really okay, though? I know you've known them for a long time."

Leon could have thrown a wad of cash at his former charge. That was some well-timed commentary for sure. Especially as it seemed they touched Jill enough to make her eyes overly bright.

"I really am, kid. We'll find her. Just you watch."

Barry grunted. "She's probably still in her kidnapper's place putting everything he owns on eBay to buy another donorcycle."

"And replace that fuckin' Harley?" Leon shook his head. "How much she spent on that thing now? Ten, fifteen thou?"

Confused washed over Valentine's face. "She's been fixing it up herself."

It wasn't often Leon found himself taken by surprise. "Claire told me she just did custom paint jobs and minor modifications. She never told me she flips motorcycles." That kinda stung. Okay, not kinda. It stung. A lot.  
  
It stung a helluva lot, but why should it? It was just a thing she did, right? And he didn’t tell her every detail of his hobbies, so it made sense that she would hold something back. Not that Claire would be interested in the minutia of how much he paid the occasional hooker for a blow job once in a while just to take the edge off.

"A mechanic," Jill said. "She buys poor condition, spends an age fixing 'em up, and sells 'em on for a profit. Not that it's uncommon."

"Course not." Leon gave a smile that readily accepted the explanation for what it was. A way to distract him from Claire's more personal life.

Just like the Gardner's. He had to Google those fuckers. He thought they were friends, and friends talked, right? Really talked about serious shit that went down, but apparently not.

_When was Claire supposed to tell you, dickhead? When you call her after Ada left the hotel room in the middle of the night? Cos that woulda gone down real well. 'Yo', babe. So I've just fisted the spy who sells these fucked up viruses to the highest bidder. I'm runnin' on empty, so tell me something deep and meaningful so I don't feel like a sack of shit.'_

"Remember when she brought that first one home?" Jill's voice came with a pickaxe that hacked away at his patience.

Mutley came out of Barry's mouth. "I didn't envy that girl one bit."

"Sounds like there are some good stories." Moira grinned in a manner that it was just such a _Claire_ thing to do.  
  
A nosy neb, Claire once said.  
  
Moira was a nosy neb as she hinted and cajoled for the juicy details. The good stories full of thrills and spills that only came from tales told about people a person knew, and fuck, but it hurt to see.

Leon looked away from the girl just as Jill went for her purse, probably for her cigarettes.

"You know you're in a hospital, right?" Sherry gave her the side eye like nobody's business.

"Shut up, kid." The older woman pulled her hand away.

The door opened and cut off any word she was about to speak.

"Miss Valentine?"

They all rose to greet Lucy Greeley, publicist to Umbrella, but Leon jumped in. Had to get in there before he was pushed out of the loop again. "Anything?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact."

The first time he ever met a woman so capable of speech without the need to move her lips.

"Well? What have you got?" Sherry was right there. "You've found her, right? Claire?"

"You've found Claire?" Moira clasped her hands under her chin, ever hopeful.

"We know her location." Greeley glanced between them all. "Mr Redfield's unfortunate incident earlier made the late afternoon in several states. Miss Redfield was recognised in a Kum and Go just outside of Aspen, Colorado."

"Colorado?" Leon's jaw dropped. What the hell was she doing in Colorado? Not once in all these years had he ever heard of an Umbrella facility in Colorado.

Had they missed one? Had he missed one? The implication that even one of those places was off the radar turned his blood to stone.

"Exactly." Greeley addressed the man. "The previous staff of Umbrella Pharmaceuticals never recorded any facility in or near Colorado."

Jill snarled. "Because they were so trustworthy."

"Exactly." Greeley's steely eyes turned to her. "I.T have incorporated a programme that can help us locate any laboratories within the tri-state area. They have used energy consumption as a key. It's a slow process, unfortunately. We have to rule out IVF clinics, walk-in centres, research facilities, sperm donation clinics, hospi..."

"We understand." Leon quickly cut the woman off. "You said Claire was recognised? By whom?"

Greeley flipped through the information she had. "Two cashiers by the names of Linda Turner and a Victor Crossling, plus several witnesses that were in store. Miss Redfield left to get more cash from a man at the filling station, then returned to the store to purchase, and I quote, half the entire menu and a tank of gas."  
  
“Half the entire menu?”  
  
Leon could have kissed Sherry. Or bought her a Ferrari.  
  
“I have the list here. Four signature crispy chicken sandwiches, one large chicken and bacon ranch pizza, four hotdogs, four corndogs, a salad, and a Baby Ruth bar. The second order was for one large meat feast pizza.”  
  
His eyes got wider as the list went on, each item built an image of one incredible pile of food that left him speechless. The others shared his sentiments if their expressions were anything to go by, only Moira found it in her to speak it.  
  
“Holy shit.” The young woman breathed. “There must be, like, five people with her.”  
  
Lucy Greeley didn’t bat an eye. “Just the one, Miss Burton. Nobody got an exact look at his face, so the description is vague at best. Mrs Emlee is arranging for a sketch artist to be brought in on loan from the police department.”

"These witnesses. They're sure it was her?" Barry urged.

"She sported a blonde wig, but yes, Mr Burton. They're sure. Miss Redfield made sure to stop in front of every surveillance camera in the store."

Claire remembered. If there was one thing he could ever hope she would remember from the conversations they used to have, it was to leave the best trail possible. Be seen on any camera available, leave blood and hair and tissue. Drop the fucking breadcrumbs at every opportunity, and she did.  
  
_That's my girl. That's my good girl._  
  
It made his heart sing.

"That's our girl. I'll go..." Leon was halfway to the family room door, deadset and focused on his destination of Aspen, Colorado. He'd swipe a government plane no problem and could be there inside of four hours.

He would find her and she'd be okay, and he would go and bring her home. Where she was supposed to be and move his shit into her guest room. If she even had a guest room, that was.

_Fuck it. I'll crash on the sofa._

"Whoa there, sailor." The pressure of Jill's hand on his chest stopped him in his tracks. "Barry and I will go, Rebecca..."

"Is helping our I.T. department." Lucy's lips moved half a millimetre. "Mr Hawthorn is readying his private plane. There are ten seats. Four will be taken up by two field medics and two paramedics, so that leaves six seats. Mr Hawthorn will also provide refreshments and anything you may well need."

Two field medics and two paramedics. There was the expectation that Claire may not be in the best shape when she was found. That she might be in a worse position than mere injury.

Leon's world narrowed just enough to focus on Lucy Greeley and Lucy Greeley alone. "What do you know that you aren't telling us? Why the need for two field medics and two paramedics?"

Greeley's face gave nothing away. "It's merely a precaution, Agent Kennedy. Given the proclivities of Umbrella's former staff..."

"Don't." He hissed. "Don't play me, lady. If she's hurt. If she's... If she's injured, then you need to be upfront about it."

Or he'd beat it out of her and it was just that simple.

"Leon." Barry's much larger, much stronger, and much less agile hand replaced Jill's. "We'll go get her. We'll go bring her home"

Leon fixed his gaze on the man now in front of him. "No. I'll go. You can stay here with the girls and Chris..."

"Is going to get his sister."

The gruff voice was a little distant and wholly exhausted, but there he was in the hall, paler than Casper with use of total sunblock. He also had his damn jacked tugged on and a bandaid over where his cannula had been.

Chris cracked his neck, then his knuckles. "You're coming with, Kennedy. You've got a good shot. Lousy taste in women, but a good shot. That's enough for me. Sherry, Moira. Lucy will take you to Rebecca. She's got enough cash. Go out, get some stuff. You both know what. Everyone else? Get your shit together. We leave in ten."

A smirk tugged Leon's lips wide across his face as he looked Jill square in the eye. "Hear that, Valentine? I'm a good shot. I get to go with."

Whoever had taken Claire should just do themselves a favour and die because Leon Kennedy was now on the case.


	6. Whole Lotta Nuthin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for the extra Kudos!
> 
> This chapter is 100% dedicated to WhyWhyNot for their continued support and comments! I sincerely appreciate you're enjoying it :)
> 
> This chapter is mainly a filler so we can find out what's going on inside Claire's head. You know, aside from strange voices leading her to drink...

Title: Code: Project AURORA chapter 6  
Author: Judyku A03, DeadlyFriend FFnet/Sunnyjude LJ  
Summary: Smart viruses are a helluva thing.  
Genre: Drama, horror, romance, smut, and humour.  
Pairings: Claire/Leon, Chris/Jill, with implications of others.  
Rating: NC21. Explicit sex in later chapters. Bad, bad language. Scenes of explicit violence and gore.  
Warnings: Character death. Implied alcohol abuse. Implied child abuse. Cannibalism.  
Original Characters: Lakshan Bhandari, a 33-year-old genius who works at Johns Hopkins, a biomedical engineer with a background in virology and Infectious Diseases. Creator of the C-Veronica Zero smart virus. Tyrannos, a T-103 Tyrant programmed to be Claire's bodyguard.

  


Whole Lotta Nuthin.

  


_“The date is April 19th, 2009, and time is 13:26:47. Both cycles of_ _Paclitaxel and Doxorubicin have ended. Though it is quite a shame to see total hair loss though it’s to be expected from highly aggressive chemotherapy. I’m fully confident hair regrowth will be quick once all transplants have been completed._

 _Both the patient and donor T-103 Tyrant are being prepped for their respective procedures, the first of which is scheduled for 07:00:00 April 20th, 2009. All stem cells have been programmed to resemble those of the patient in order to prevent rejection. The coded stem cells will also begin immediate repair of any and all damaged tissue so that the virus will be administered to a healthy host._ _This is doctor Lakshan Bhandari, PhD. The date is April 19th, 2009. The patient is Miss Claire Redfield._ _”_

Chemotherapy.  
  
Aggressive chemotherapy to completely destroy her immune system in order to make her body accept those cells and be openly responsive. Cells that would fix the damage and injury caused by not just the chemo, but their actions when they invaded her home and took her down. Stem cells that fixed injuries sustained from MotoGP incidents, any fights, internal scars, old broken bones.   
  
Behind every injury and wound was a story to be told. Some stories would cause a person to lose sleep at night and others would make them wince in sympathy. All of them gone. Wiped away as though they never existed and the stories they told went right along with them.

There was something else that stood out. Something far more insidious to her as a human being. Something that made her blood turn to glaciers in her veins.  
  
In all of her dealings with the monsters and the mutants and the Tyrants, she had seen them do many things. Move a crashed helicopter like it was a feather, come out of nowhere to grab her by the neck in a grip that exuded strength without an ounce of effort.   
  
Impossible. Inhuman. Unreal. Awesome. Terrifying. Breathtaking. Unstoppable. Immoveable.

All words that described what Tyrants were capable of and even under the layers of horror, Claire could admit to admiration. That the creatures _amazed_ her and she couldn’t wrap her head around how they achieved the impossible. Yet for all their impressive and unnatural brute strength, not once had she ever heard a Tyrant speak.   
  
Not a grunt, husk, growl, snarl, whisper, chuff. Anything that meant communication. And when a monster, a Tyrant, couldn’t speak. They couldn’t give consent to anything done to them nor could they go against orders programmed into them.   
  
The donor Tyrant had been subjected to the same violations as she. Sedated, medicated to increase stem cell count in the blood, and then have that blood extracted by some crazed lunatic in a lab.   
  
“The donor Tyrant.” Her voice sounded distant even to herself. “The T-103. What was his name, please?”   
  
There was a pause before the doctor responded. “You don’t have to carry that cross, Miss Redfield. It isn’t yours to bear.”   
  
Claire turned her attention to the man who had done this to her. To that Tyrant. “I asked for his name.”   
  
Lakshan sighed, his gaze shifted to where Tyrannos sat. “The report said Michael Becker. As to how true that is? I couldn’t say. I wasn’t in residence when he was exposed to the T-virus.”   
  
Her gaze landed on the Tyrant, who sat ever silent on a plush sofa in a ski cabin that whispered wealth. He looked as out of place as she felt.   
  
Despite the warmth of the cabin and all of its cosy furnishings, a chill prickled from head to toe and left a trail of goosebumps on her skin.   
  
That was it, wasn’t it?   
  
She was a Tyrant.   
  
No different to the one on the sofa. No different to the one that stalked her right through Raccoon City. No different to Alexia Ashford and Albert fucking _Wesker_.

_Mother’s ruin, dear. I heartily recommend it._

Mother’s ruin? What the hell was that?  
  
_Gin. And plenty of it._

“Miss Redfield?”  
  
Claire blinked away the odd voice in her head and looked at the doctor with a realisation. “Tyrannos. He’s my donor, isn’t he? That’s why you called him my Tyrant.”   
  
Lakshan nodded. “Matiass. He wanted the Countess, you, to have every protection. So he ordered Tyrannos to be under the Countess’ command. _Your_ command.”

“Was _I_ programmed? Like the mon…” She cut that word out of her vocabulary right then and there. “Like the Tyrant from Raccoon City?”   
  
“No. Absolutely not.” The doctor said, emphatic. “Most of them, from what I can gather, are given one task. A Tyrant won’t stop until that task is completed one way or another.”   
  
Claire clenched her fists. His reply just confirmed suspicions she’d had for many years. “There was a Tyrant. A 103, like-like Tyrannos, like Michael. Nothing distracted him. Nothing. It didn’t matter where I was. He was always one step behind me. Somebody gave him that task, didn’t they? Somebody ordered that Tyrant to kill me. So somebody, somewhere, knew I was in that city. And unless that Tyrant walked or drove to Raccoon City? That somebody was either close enough to drop him off or they were inside the cop station. Watching my every damn move.”   
  
It was just a little too easy to count the number of survivors she’d met that night. Leon Kennedy, rookie cop. Little Sherry Birkin, daughter of the G-virus creator. Brian Irons, a crooked cop with a penchant for taxidermy. Ada Wong. Marvin Branaugh, Annette and William Birkin didn’t survive. Leon survived. Sherry survived. Ada survived.

She sure as hell hadn’t watched herself. Sherry had remained hidden until they met. So that left Leon Kennedy and Ada Wong.

Her heart turned to glass inside her chest as a tiny seed of doubt planted itself in her mind.  
  
Had she been wrong about Leon all of this time? What if… What if he had been sent there on purpose? Umbrella made zombies a reality, made Tyrants a reality, so a fake cop wouldn’t be much of a strain for them, would it?

Hell, Wesker had been a fake good guy from the get-go. All Umbrella had to do was hand over a good amount of money to some rookie. And a rookie who was late for his first day due to alcohol? Nobody would ask questions.  
  
_I didn’t. I didn’t ask him anything. I saw his uniform and went with it. Ada is wherever he goes. She’s saved his ass. He’s saved hers, he lets her go and he knows she’s selling those viruses. What if their meeting was never by chance? God, was I wrong? Have we been wrong this whole time about Leon?_

Claire stood, hand over her mouth and bile in her gut as she tried to kill that single seed of doubt.  
  
It was what Umbrella would want. For them all to hold each other in contempt, to think of one another as untrustworthy. To believe another would become a double agent that willingly reported back to the real monsters.   
  
Yet for all of that? It was something she couldn’t quite shake off and it made her ashamed to even doubt Leon, even offhand.

 _Gin, darling._   
  
“Miss Redfield?”   
  
Lakshan’s cultured voice sliced through her troubled mind and she ran a hand over her face.

“I-I need some air.”  
  
  
xxxx

 

The Aspen air was crisp to breathe and it stabbed her lungs with each inhalation. She could taste the snow on the late evening breeze as it drifted down from the mountains and she tilted her head up, eyes closed, and just let herself be.

And Lakshan’s family cabin wasn’t something to be sniffed at. Not that she knew what made for a fancy cabin, but she was pretty damn sure this one hit the mark for many an affluent skier.

A wooden staircase led the way to the door and the walkway to the right went straight to where the hot tub sat in the corner of a porch that extended out over the garage. Lantern lights decorated the outer wood panels and gave off a soft glow that illuminated the trees around the place. A large cathedral window provided a spectacular view for those inside the cabin, while the porch offered up true serenity.

Claire opened her eyes and looked up and up and up, all the way through those paper-white trees and saw stars begin to appear in the indigo sky.  
  
Everything was sharper now, more in focus, and she could see where bits of bark had been stripped from trees, could see the silhouettes of branches and leaves alike. Then there were the smells and sounds.   
  
Being trapped in a car for hours on end had not been shits and giggles. She heard each and every bite he took. How his loafers squeaked against the damn pedal. How he sniffed and coughed and slurped on his stupid ass coffee that wreaked of salted fucking caramel. Even his damn voice started to grate on her last nerve.   
  
After all of that?   
  
Being out here, in this place, had pretty much saved her sanity from a fate worse than death. The worst of it was she had no-one to share it with.   
  
It was probably the loneliest she had ever felt since Leon had pretty much told her to fuck off and find her brother…

Claire clenched her jaw tight as it would go.  
  
_No. No. I won’t do it. I won’t doubt him. Not Leon. He’s been in this mess as long as my brother has. As long as me. He wouldn’t. I know he wouldn’t. Besides, it’s Leon. Leon would love this place, I think. He’d like the peace and quiet. It’d be nice. He could break his arm showing off for Sherry and I. I don’t know what’s worse. That she wanted us as her parents or that I allowed myself to dream about it._   
  
She had allowed it, though, hadn’t she? Allowed Sherry’s little girl heart to worm its way under her skin and paint pictures in her head. A home, a family. Christmas dinner with more than just two people who managed to scrape by on junk food and Christmas movies while they played pretend. Maybe even two little lines on a stick.   
  
_Gin tends to make one far less dismal._

A quiet click was heard right before boots clunked heavily off the wood, each dull thud echoed out the height and weight of the owner.  
  
Claire felt her lips twitch when Tyrannos stood silently next to her on the extended porch, and she wondered if he could hear what she did. “I’m sorry. For what was done to you. That you had to be my stem cell donor.”

That large head slowly turned down and she found herself pinned into place by the familiar gaze of a Tyrant.  
  
She covered her eyes for a moment or two, then lowered it. Repeated twice more before she gave up and the smile she held back flickered. Perhaps peek-a-boo was a little out of his league.

Before the Tyrant could respond, the doctor tentatively and subtly cleared his throat. “May I join you?”  
  
“It’s your place.” She offered up the best smile she could summon given he was the one who infected her.   
  
Lakshan approached with both hands in his pockets and a thicker stubble on his face. “Nice night, innit?”

Claire arched a brow at the smell of alcohol that came off of him. “That the best you’ve got, doctor?”

“It was either that or a lewd comment about leaving you two alone by the jacuzzi.” A lopsided grin tugged that stubble up. “I played a safety shot. And I may have helped myself to mother’s sherry.”

She snorted. “I thought I could smell booze. This place of yours. How much does it go for? I counted four bathrooms, one king bed, two queens, and four twins.”

“Ah.” He scratched his head awkwardly. “Eighteen hundred dollars or thereabouts. Good value for what’s available here.”  
  
“Eighteen hundred bucks a week?”

His face reddened. “That would be per night.”

 _“What_ ?”   
  
“It works out at one-fifty if it’s split between twelve people.”   
  
Claire gave out a low whistle that echoed. “I counted two bedrooms and if you say the capacity is twelve, then…”   
  
Lakshan shrugged. “Thirty-five hundred and fourteen square feet, plus pool table, fully equipped kitchen, ski-in and ski-out, garage, satellite, cable, jacuzzi, fitness room with gym equipment…”   
  
She gave another low whistle, then fell silent as she wondered on how to bring up the elephant in the room. Blunt was always best in her world and so that’s what she went with. “How did you end up…”   
  
“Working for the spawn of Satan?” He turned to lean both forearms on the edge of the porch and locked his fingers together. “I worked at Johns Hopkins. I was developing bio-engineered cells that would stimulate neurological function in patients with Alzheimer’s. I received a phone call to say I was a match and could I get to the Delila Frederic clinic as soon as may be. Once in? There was no getting out. Eighteen months I was in there. I didn’t think I’d ever see the light of day again. Until they brought you in.”

“I’m sorry, doctor.” She said, genuine. It couldn’t have been easy to go from the top of the world to a place that stripped him of everything he held dear.

“Nah. It’s karma, innit? I have to pay for my crimes. This is only part of what’s coming my way.”

Claire studied him and looked for any sign that said he was a liar but found nothing. “You’re clearly a smart guy who could have escaped any time. Why did you wait until I was there?”  
  
“You. Your connections. Staying allowed me to keep the C-Veronica smart virus out of the wrong hands. I befriended him. Matiass, I mean.” Lakshan rubbed his hands against the cold. “My plan was to get you out and hand over all of my evidence that Matiass would be arrested and brought to trial for what he’s done. Matiass. He-he has Kuru, Miss Redfield. I took an oath once to do no harm. That’s all I’ve done there is harm and kill. He will be the last one I kill because I refuse to treat a disease he so richly deserves.”

A frown of confused knitted her brows together and she tilted her head. “Kuru. I’ve heard the word, but…”  
  
“It’s a bacteria that infects the brain when a person practises cannibalism.” He didn’t look at her this time, just stared straight in front of him, his face blank. It was that same haunted look that man had back in the stairwell. “Please don’t ask me more on that tonight, Miss Redfield. Let it kill him. Let it spread through his brain until he dies, slowly.”

“Lakshan…” Claire reached out to clasp his cold hand only to have him wave her off.

His smile didn’t quite reach the mark when finally looked her way. “I find myself a bit worse for wear, Miss Redfield.”  
  
“It’s Claire, doctor. Just Claire. And you’re right. We both need to get some sleep if we expect to make good time tomorrow.”   
  
Lakshan brightened at that. “There’s a bed made up for you. Help yourself to anything that’s in the pantry and cupboards if you get hungry.”   
  
She smiled her gratitude as she watched him walk down the porch and across the walkway to the front door, then she sighed as she looked out into the dark.

There was more than what he said, of that Claire was sure of, but he was right. They had talked plenty for one night and they had a long way to drive tomorrow, so going to bed was a good plan.

“Come on, Tyr.” She tugged on the Tyrant’s black sleeve. “Come with me. Come get some rest.”

xxxx

 

The sun rose at exactly 0540 on the June 8th 2009, and with it rose Chris Redfield who instantly checked his phone for updates.  
  
Happy was he to find a photograph of his sister’s kidnapper, plus name, social security, job description, age, height, and everything else a brother needed to know. Such as the cabin right under his nose in Aspen.   
  
Lakshan Bhandari, a 32-year-old genius whose work at Johns Hopkins looked set to revolutionise the world of Alzheimer’s and Dementia. His use of re-coded viral bacteria had shown to be successful in trials on the treatment of mice with brain damage.   
  
“Chris?”   
  
Chris handed his phone over to Kennedy without a word and listened as the agent read the description out loud.

“Lakshan Bhandari, PhD. A young man set to change the world. His cutting edge in biomedical engineering combines the incredible use of modern-day smart technology to re-code viruses to help stimulate neurological function in patients with Alzheimer’s and Dementia. His background in virology and infectious diseases make him a prime candidate…”  
  
Leon trailed off, his jaw flexed under pressure while his hand dropped down to the hip that would house his gun.   
  
With such a fine specimen as that behind Claire’s disappearance, who knew what the hell she had been exposed to over these last ten weeks.  
  
One thing Chris did know for sure and that was Bhandari was a dead man, and all that remained unanswered was who made the kill shot.   
  
Leon or himself.


	7. Going To Europe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going to Europe is slang term here in the UK for praying to the porcelain goddess!
> 
> I am so, sorry this chapter is *days* late! I got stuck on the beginning and no matter what I did, it just refused to come out the way I wanted it. Then the whole chapter started to come out right and I ended up with, I kid you not, 33 pages. A 33-page chapter is just way, way, wayyyyy too much to post in one go, and so I had a ton of editing to do. I'm still not 100% happy with it, but I have a feeling I'd still be writing this one come Christmas next year!!
> 
> Very much looking forward to reading your comments, especially from both WhyWhyNot and KathNg!

Title: Code: Project AURORA chapter 7  
Author: Judyku A03, DeadlyFriend FFnet/Sunnyjude LJ  
Summary: Smart viruses are a helluva thing.  
Genre: Drama, horror, romance, smut, and humour.  
Pairings: Claire/Leon, Chris/Jill, with implications of others.  
Rating: NC21. Explicit sex in later chapters. Bad, bad language. Scenes of explicit violence and gore.  
Warnings: Character death. Implied alcohol abuse. Implied child abuse. Cannibalism.  
Original Characters: Lakshan Bhandari, a 33-year-old genius who works at Johns Hopkins, a biomedical engineer with a background in virology and Infectious Diseases. Creator of the C-Veronica Zero smart virus. Tyrannos, a T-103 Tyrant programmed to be Claire's bodyguard.

 

Going To Europe.

  
xx

The shower had been nothing short of glorious and she’d just stood under the spray, head tilted back and eyes closed while the red hot water worked its magic.  
  
Every chemical, every inch, of her own private anguish was sloughed off with the help of a loofah and some fancy body care products Lakshan’s family called spare toiletries. Though how anyone could call the likes of L’Occitane spare toiletries was anyone’s guess, she supposed the eighteen hundred bucks a night paid for the good stuff. The hair care was way up there, too. L’Anza, the shampoo and conditioner read, and she didn’t need Lakshan’s snappy IQ to know this was more or less crack for hair.  
  
Now here she was, with skin that no longer held the scent of hell, while her hair bounced up into its natural wave. And she felt…

Not good, but better.  
  
She doubted she’d ever feel like herself again, what with the infection sat curled, dormant, around her soul. Yet she felt better than yesterday and that was something to be grateful for.  
  
Hope.  
  
That’s what she had today.  
  
Hope and not a small chunk, either.  
  
Maybe it was the fact they started the drive to D.C soon or maybe it was just the fact her situation hadn’t fully sunk into her brain yet. Not that it mattered why she felt good about herself, because all that mattered was that she _did_ .  
  
She paused to take in the sight of Tyrannos at the bottom of the table, his hat next to his own plate. Poor thing didn’t seem to have a clue he was supposed to eat what was in front of him.  
  
“Good morning, Tyr.” Claire made a point to acknowledge the Tyrant and touched the giant’s shoulder.

“Just in time. The perfect cure for sherry hangovers, mate. Let me tell you.” Lakshan began to pile pancake after pancake onto a plate that he soon set down on a place mate opposite his own. He followed with a handful of preserves, several slices of toast and a jar of dark roast peanut butter, super crunchy.  
  
Claire wasn’t ashamed to admit she started to drool as the smells floated all around her in a cocktail of home-cooked yum. “Thank you. You’re hungover. Me? I’m just fine.”  
  
“Only ‘cus I infected you with the constitution of a Tyrant. And your coffee.” Lakshan dropped a cup in front of her.  
  
“Still sucks to be you. Again, thank you.”  
  
“Take that infection away? We’ll see who can sink the most and be fresh as a daisy first thing.” The doctor finally sat with his own breakfast.

She felt his gaze shift to and from her, discomfort increased and rolled off of him until it made her insides tingle. A sensation that left her disturbed and intrigued in equal measure. One glance at Tyrannos saw him with his gaze also on the doctor.  
  
Claire fought back the urge to laugh and laid her her fork next to her plate for a moment. “Say it, doctor.”

His shoulders drooped in defeat. “Given your increased need for fuel, food, I’d like to suggest you eat as much peanut butter as you can. The slow release energy will go a long way to helping stave off the need to…”  
  
“Eat you bankrupt?” Claire offered, her eyebrows jolted high into her hairline as humour twitched at her lips.

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far.” Lakshan offered her a supportive smile. “Money’s not my concern, Claire. You are. So if you’re hungry, tired, want to stop for any reason, just say the word, alright?”

“Alright.” There wasn’t much else she could do in truth. As much as it pained her to admit, she was wholly dependent on him and his money until she got home, though she did intend to pay him back as much as she could.

They ate in silence as they kept one eye on the clock which said it to be just after six, so they weren’t doing too bad for time. There was another hour before they set off on the ten-hour drive that would take a full one third off of the journey to D.C.

She looked at him curiously for a moment before she broke the companionable quiet between them. “How much do you know about the viruses? From a medical standpoint, I mean. How they work with the human genome.”

“That’s a loaded question if ever there was one.” He shook his head. “The T-Virus, as you know, renders some people into zombies or the living dead. Given the characteristic traits of zombies… How horrified you would be to know just how many ways and means there are making a zombie. Carpenter ants in Thailand, Rabies, fungus, CJD, Toxoplasma gondii, and…”  
  
“Kuru?” Claire added gently and hoped the word didn’t spawn too many horrors for him while he ate.  
  
“Yes. Kuru.” Lakshan clasped his fingers together and looked at her. “Rabies would be a logical starting point for the T-Virus given the anger it induces is very similar to that found in zombies.”  
  
“But you don’t think so, do you?”  
  
The doctor’s dark curls bounced. “My opinion is that Rabies is not Virus Zero. Is not the base used to make the T-Virus. I ruled it out by process of elimination mostly. Rabies is very quick to become lethal and given the fact it takes complete death for the T-Virus to manifest and reanimate enough neurological function for a zombie to become active. Chances are high Rabies would kill before any change occurs. So that wasn’t the virus used as the building blocks. The T-Virus, however, is a Mitochondrial virus that replaces a host’s …”

“Mine.” Claire’s eyes sparkled with a little bit of mischief and she was pleased to see it had the desired effect on him.  
  
Lakshan visibly relaxed as he spoke. “Mitochondrial viruses like the T-Virus work quickly and efficiently. The virus inserts its own genetic code on immediate contact with your cells, then it replaces the organelles with its own by doing that very thing. Those organelles are what powers the very basic neurological function in a zombie. The life expectancy of a zombie becomes three to four months, maximum. Can you guess why?”  
  
Her eyes went wide after he posed the question, then she realised this was his way of teaching.  
  
Claire mulled over the question as she raised her fork to her mouth and stopped as the answer was literally inches away from her face. “It’s this, isn’t it? The biological change they undergo from the virus… They can’t get enough to eat, can they? That’s why they target living beings, but we can’t sustain them and the organelles can’t absorb nutrients from standard food. In essence, the zombie runs out of fuel. That’s why I oinked out at the Kum and Go.”  
  
“Exactly.” Lakshan gestured her way. “The virus repeats this with every cell until the infection is complete. Then at the time of brain-breath, the pathogen reanimates the dead neurological pathways to where basic function is restored. Like safe mode on a computer, for example. However, the amygdala isn’t reanimated and so there’s no serotonin released. This why aggression is the primary response.”

“Well, shit.” She sat back, wholly impressed with his way of mind. It was plain to see he wasn’t only a very intelligent man, but he was also tempered and wise enough to do his homework. “That’s probably more information than I’ve had in ten years, doctor. So why do you think the T-Virus turns some into zombies and others into, well, Tyrants?”

Lakshan blew out a long breath and rubbed his beard. “Honestly? I’m not wholly certain. Could be down to individuality or an undiagnosed medical condition, perhaps. I’d need a good sample size for a blind study before I could begin to make an educated guess. Your particular Virus was made by me, so it was fully tailored to your specific genetic code. Not that Matiass knows that, of course.”

Claire frowned. “What do you mean? Tailored to my genetic code?”  
  
This brought out sheer smugness in him and his grin belonged on the face of Dennis the Menace. “You’re only forty percent Tyrant, mate. I may have had a subtle gun to my head, but I can tell you straight. Matiass was too far gone. All he cared about was The Countess. So I coded the cells and diluted the serums with something that has sixty percent DNA in common with humans. Musa sapientum, it’s called.”

“What’s Musa Sapientum?” She didn’t have to wait long for her answer.  
  
“Will you experience changes in your physiological being? Certainly, but there won’t be any neurological degradation or growth of ocular tissue in your scapula.” Lakshan grinned as he raised his fork in a toast. “Anybody tries to nick a sample? All they’ll find is Claire Redfield and a banana.”

xxxx

Claire just finished her theft of every spare toiletries that filled the cabin, with the doctor’s permission of course. Now she had enough luxury goods to last her an entire year at least.  
  
Rich friends were _life_ and the fact a rich friend infected her? Well, that spelled years of entitled luxury, didn’t it?

“Lakshan?” She called out as she made her way back to the lounge with three full bags shared between both hands.  
  
“About ready to hit the road with your booty?” He slung a large duffle bag over his shoulder and stood by the open door, ready.  
  
She nodded and went to speak, only to have her words cut off by the strangest of sensations, and she looked around for the source. Only there was nothing inside the cabin that accounted for it.  
  
“Everything okay, mate?”  
  
“Yeah. I… Yeah. Just…” Her skin felt almost itchy, as though something tickled every inch of her all at the same time. Her spine rippled. “It’s nothing.”  
  
Lakshan stared at her, serious. “It’s not nothing.”  
  
Claire bit her lip, the bags rustled as she adjusted her grip, but it did nothing to relieve the unnerved prickle that scratched under her skin. “Can you feel that? Like a vibration or something. It’s just bouncing off of me. Wait. There it is again.”

“No. Don’t feel anything like that. Can you describe it to me?”

There was nothing but her own paranoia at first and frustration began to claw its way up into her brain. She found strength enough to push it down and concentrated on simple breathing exercises.  
  
Claire inhaled and exhaled, slow and even, in and out. Then she felt the pull in her gut and she was unable to resist, and she fell again. Fell backwards through time until the wind broke her fall and it rushed over her, rushed through her.  
  
Oh, but she was _everywhere_ and she spread her fingers out as each and every scent painted a picture in her head. Mountains and forest and snow, trees and flowers and soil. They all made something truly exquisite, but there was something else.

Something didn’t sit quite right, that didn’t belong in nature, so she dug deep and deeper still. Mapped the roots as one tree kissed another until she found the smallest trace of what she sought.

It was so, so faint as to be almost imperceptible. Almost, that is, but there it was. Buried under layers of nature and ozone and granite was the noxious odour of gas and exhaust emissions of an All Terrain Vehicle.  
  
She felt the rumbled engine pulse its filth against her flesh, smelled the fumes taint the trees for years to come and something inside her snarled.  
  
Claire reached out more, roots and branches became her very nerves as they spread out through the ground. Then there they were, their boots thumped rapid fire as they ran swiftly over her body, each footstep a slap to the face of the monster that lay dormant in her brain.  
  
She tried to stop them and trip them up, hold them off, but they were too strong and she went down when her whole world flashed white as it hit.  
  
Silver sliced and cut and stabbed its way straight down to her fucking soul. Agony tore strips off her sanity as it came again and again. The blade lashed sharp enough to rip through flesh and bone to expose the slab of yellowed fat that dropped heavy to the soil. Muscle and sinew screamed as the knife wrenched them wide open and blood seeped out of her bark.

Claire opened her eyes, lips pulled back into a snarl as she found one of them and she fought back.  
  
xxxx  
  


“Holy shit, holy shit…”

“The ground. It’s the fucking ground. Shit.”

Chris managed to keep tight hold of Jill’s wrist as the tree behind her came alive and began to wind slowly around her ankle.

Thorns grew out and began to push down through her pants until the fabric turned wet with blood. It pulled on her and it was strong enough to tug her right out of his arms.  
  
“Chris…” Jill grabbed onto him and her nails scored his hands, but he didn’t care.  
  
“Hurry the fuck up.” Chris winced an apology right before he hauled his partner to where his arms locked tight under hers.  
  
Burton’s rough voice came from somewhere behind him, the gruff sound laced with pure rage right before multiple bullets battered whatever the hell had gotten a hold of him. Then finally Kennedy landed a skid down on his hip, knife in his hand.  
  
Chris tried to dodge bits of dirt and soil as the agent hacked away at the thick root until it lay dead on the snow. He wasted no time and one good, hard pull had his partner where she belonged. Where she was safe.  
  
He pulled back just to look at her. “You good, honey?”  
  
Jill nodded, a little shaken up. “I’m good. We have our backs to each other from here on in.”  
  
“Agreed.” Barry was breathless and his face was speckled with tiny cuts. “Thorns are assholes.”

Chris pushed Jill and himself up, his gun ready to go and the safety off. “Back to back. Kennedy, Jill. I want you two up front. Your eyesight is better than mine over long distances. Barry, you’re with me. Anything moves? You shoot until it doesn’t. I don’t know what we’re dealing with here. We go quick as we can until we reach Bhandari’s cabin.”  
  
“Affirmative.”  
  
“On three… One, two, three…”

xxxx  
  


Claire found herself square on her ass while Lakshan knelt over her, his thumb pulled her lower lash line down and shone a beam of light into first one eyeball, then the other. Then the warmth of his palm curled around her forearm until two of his fingers gently lay across her pulse point.  
  
“Claire, mate? Can you hear me?”  
  
There was no time for this.  
  
“They’re not coming. They’re already here. We have to hide.” It hurt like a bitch, but she managed to drag herself to her feet and grabbed onto Tyrannos like a damned lifeline.

“Bollocks.” Lakshan slammed the door, then bolted and chained and locked it.  
  
“They’re getting closer. I can hear them running, Lakshan. They have guns. Machine pistols. Door locks won’t do any good. We have to go n _ow_ .”  
  
The doctor disappeared into the kitchen, where cupboard doors were opened and shut in a cacophony that bounced around her skull.  
  
She stared in disbelief when Lakshan reappeared with another bottle of sherry in his hand. “What are you doing?

The bottle cap was unscrewed. “I have a plan. Go to the garage below with Tyrannos. There’s a black tarp over the ski mobile. It should be big enough to cover you both. No arguments. My plan won’t work if you’re here.”

Claire gaped at her friend. “I’m not gonna leave you to deal with whoever they are alone. Or whatever hair brained plan you’ve cooked up. That’s crazy!”  
  
Lakshan took a large gulp of alcohol, the cringe of disgust on his face said it all. “They’re the least of my worries. Alcohol poisoning on the other hand… Tyr, get her down to the garage and _hide_ .”  
  
“What… Hey!” Her feet left the ground and a solid shoulder ground hard into her gut, but there was no escape from the grip of a Tyrant. At least not without a rocket launcher and several rounds of lucky breaks.  
  
Her wide eyes unable to do more than gawk as stairs were swallowed three at a time under the powerful stride.  
  
_Holy shit…_  
  
“There it is, Tyr. In the corner. Quick get us under it. Now, remember no noise.”

xxxx  
  


Chris hid behind the door as Kennedy knocked on it, his leather jacket and jeans made him the perfect man for the job.  
  
“Hello, anybody home? I, like, totalled my car and shit. You gotta radio or a phone? It’s, like, an emergency.”  
  
He curled his lips up at the ease of which the agent slipped into dumbass mode. Not that the guy had to work too hard at being a dumbass. Didn’t have to work too hard at being a dick, either, but now wasn’t the time.

Kennedy knocked again when there was no answer. “C’mon. Somebody’s gotta be home, yo’. I’mma freeze my man titties off out here.”

Chris was about to simply shoot the windows out and go in there by force, but signs of life came from the other side of the door.  
  
He waited patiently if not calmly and readied himself to bust the shit out of whoever stood between him and his sister’s kidnapper.

“Hold your bloody horses, lads. You know I’m ill.” Three locks clicked consecutively before the door opened. “But I still got the booze…”  
  
Chris was on his sister’s kidnapper, left forearm lodged against a throat and his gun dug hard into the bastard’s skull. He barrelled the asshat backwards and didn’t stop until he heard the sound of a spine slammed against wood. “Where is she?”  
  
The sickly smell of sherry wafted out from the man’s breath. “What the bloody hell? Danny didn’t say anything about inviting any mates around.”

Kennedy’s balled fist slammed a world of krav maga straight into Bhandari’s gut, then grabbed a fistful of hair and pulled the head back to expose the throat to his knife. “You play with us? I play with you.”  
  
Bhandari wheezed and spluttered, but Chris didn’t give an inch. “Claire Redfield, dickwad. Where. Is. She? I know you know.”  
  
“Come on, sir. This behaviour isn’t protocol.” Ahh, Jill. She knew his game well. She was such a sweetie.

Chris caught Kennedy’s gaze, pleased to see the agent was on the same page.  
  
“Fine.” Kennedy let go and stepped back, hands held up in surrender and a grin on his face. “My fist slipped.”  
  
Barry appeared at his side. “No sign of her, sir.”

Chris let Bhandari drop to his knees.  
  
“That…” The man swallowed. “Was not a good idea.”  
  
“We’ll be the judge of that, doctor Bhandari.” Burton said, straight-laced as anything.  
  
Jill pulled a photograph of Claire out of her pocket. “This woman is Claire Redfield. Witnesses spotted you with her at a Kum and Go yesterday afternoon. We have the power to reduce the charges and get you a single cell if you tell us where she is.”  
  
Bhandari looked up at them, a smile steadily worked its way from ear-to-ear as he got to his knees. “Far away from you bloody cockwombles.”

Kennedy’s knuckles cracked hard enough off of the doctor’s skull that Chris winced as the man went down, a trickle of blood leaked out of his nose. “What was that?”  
  
“I’m not telling any of you sweet fuck all.” White teeth shone red. “Now piss off.”  
  
Chris looked at the agent, their laughter came out in a rich mix of depth and feigned humour.  
  
“He told us to piss off even after we’ve been so nice to him.” Kennedy smiled a crocodile’s smile.  
  
“Wonder where all that stiff upper lip is.” Barry rubbed his lower lip in deep thought.

“My mate? She’ll be with her brother and giving everything I have on you bastards to the BSAA.” Bhandari hiccoughed and beamed up at them, bloody and so fucking smug. “As for your stiff upper lip…”  
  
Chris had no time to jump out of the way before the fucker heaved and barfed sherry all over his boots.  
  
xxxx  
  
  
The moment Claire heard the familiar gruff of her brother’s voice, she froze right there under the black tarp. Her heart went from zero to sixty in under two seconds and she clung to the silent Tyrant next to her.  
  
Terror clawed its way all through her body and left her veins ice cold as she began to shake.

They would kill Tyr if they saw him. They wouldn’t stop to think or-or listen. They wouldn’t stop or listen to her and would just turn their weapons on him and wouldn’t stop until he was dead.  
  
No matter what she did, she couldn’t seem to make herself move or get up or do anything other than sit there, useless. Not even when she heard the doctor take a hiding from both her brother and Leon.  
  
Hot water prickled at her eyes and she rocked, mouth wide open in a silent scream as the metallic scent of blood filled the air. Her friends and family had just beaten Lakshan to the point of blood.

 _How thrilling I find your cowardice. Perhaps milk is more to your taste._  
  
Claire blinked moist eyes.

Cowardice?  
  
Milk?  
  
_Oh, the hell to the no, lady. I’ll show you cowardice._

“Stay here, Tyr. I can’t promise they won’t hurt you. So stay here, okay? I’ll be alright.”

She made sure the black tarp hid every bit of the Tyrant before she ran for the stairs, her footsteps loud enough to be heard over the shouts and yells.

The door was pulled open from the other side and was nigh on knocked off her feet by the bitter stench of vomit.

Blood, sweat, sherry, pancake, coffee, and bile.

All of it smacked her in the face and Claire staggered, hand over her mouth as her throat closed up in self-preservation, but it was no use. Her stomach roiled and churned and trapped air ballooned her cheeks. That smell wafted right up both nostrils and down her pipeline to tickle her tonsils.

Vomit didn’t just slide up and out of her mouth, but it _sprayed_. It wholly and completely sprayed out from between her lips and fingers at a thousand miles per hour and landed square on the pants and boots of Leon Kennedy.  
  
xxxx  
  


The cool air felt like sheer bliss as it blew over her hot face and Claire let her head flop back against the wooden beam behind her.

She could still feel it there in her mouth, where a taste of sick lingered and stuck to her tongue and teeth. Tried to gulp in fresh air to stop it, only she failed, and her entire body twisted and contorted as she turned to dry heave into the waste bin next to her.  
  
_So very vulgar..._  
  
A soft hand pressed a cool glove against her temple and pulled her hair back away from her face.  
  
“Water?” Jill offered as she sat in front of her.  
  
Claire gratefully took it and rolled the icy cold bottle across her forehead. “Sherry? Never again. How’s Lakshan? He okay?”

Jill may be her brother’s partner, but it satisfied her to see the woman redden a little. “Barry. He’s helping the doctor clean up. We didn’t know he was the one who got you out, Claire.”  
  
_Didn’t stop to think more like._

Claire held her tongue. If she said too much, she’d have to confess and tell about her infection. That Lakshan was the one who infected her with a T-Banana Veronica smart virus.

“Yeah, well…” She swirled a gulp of water around her mouth and spat into the bucket.

“You alright out there, mate?”

It hurt to laugh, but she did it anyway. “Just fine, doctor. How’s the jaw?”

“Oh, you know. Can’t complain. Your brother and agent Kennedy are cleaning up.”

“And so they should,” Claire said, serious. “The banana won’t sing. Leverage.”

Silence passed for a moment. “Bananas never do. They’re the introverts of the fruit world.”

She dropped her head between her arms and laughed. Introverted bananas indeed.  
  
Claire opened her eyes to find Jill’s gaze wholly fixed on her. She tilted her head as a hint of anger cranked the heart rate up a notch. “Have at me. I mean, you were all probably out of your mind, right? Yet here I am, hungover on sherry while living it up in an eighteen hundred dollar per night ski lodge with a genius hot guy.”

Surprised flashed quickly in the woman’s eyes before it disappeared. “After the lesson I just learned about jumping to conclusions? Words will keep until you’re ready to talk.”

“A wise decision.” Claire’s lips twitched and she was about to say something else when her brother’s overgrown ass shoved itself down next to her.  
  
Chris draped his forearms over his bent knees, his shoeless feet wiggled in the borrowed ski socks. “Not half bad here, is it? If only the wildlife didn’t attack. Don’t ask.”

“Eighteen hundred per night.” Claire drank, swished, and spat again. “We got here late. Didn’t know if the phone was tapped. So we…”  
  
“I get it.” He held up a hand. “That’s how you got dragged into this mess, remember? I didn’t call.”

“How could I forget?” Her lips curled up at the memory Raccoon fucking City. “I’d do it all again, you know? You’re my brother, Chris. I love the shit out of you. Even if you do go around beating twenty pounds of snot out of innocent people.”

“That’s the unknown for ya.” Chris looked at her then, a large grin on his face and he opened his arms.

That was all Claire needed and she flung herself at her big brother, her pain in the ass, and tried not to squeeze too hard lest she break him in half or something. And hell knew she could do without that interrogation.

His lips pressed hard on the top of her head and she just breathed him in, and there he was. All warm and big bear Chrissy Redfield chest that housed a strong heartbeat, and she memorised that sound and filed it under Dummy.

Her brother squashed her and it was all she could do to not bawl it out like she was six years old. She clung to him, though, just as she had clung to Tyr down there in the garage and hidden under the black tarp.  
  
Tyr was the physical embodiment of what she was now. Tyr who was still down there in the dark like some dirty forgotten secret.  
  
She had to cover for him before they found him.  
  
Claire sniffed and pulled back to smile up at her brother, but he spoke first.  
  
“We’ll get the others to bring the truck up. No way are you walking through this place. Shit.”

Confusion furrowed her brow. “What do you mean? It’s beautiful up here.”

“I was attacked by a tree.” Jill raised the hem of her pants leg to show a cut that looked to be an easy inch long. Superficial, thankfully, but it was still there.  
  
Claire gave a low whistle. “Damn those moving trees.”

“It came through the ground, Claire.” There was a seriousness to her brother’s face when he stared at her. “The tree root came out of the ground. Pulled her out of my arms. Kennedy had to slash the fucking thing with his knife. Burton took a coupla hits, too.”

The water bottle paused halfway to her mouth.  
  
_I had one of them. I had one by the ankle when the knife came down. Oh god, oh god. That was me. I did this. I attacked Jill. Like Alexia attacked Steve. I can’t. I can’t. I need them to go now. They have to go. Get away from me. I don’t know what to do._

“... Seen anything like that?”  
  
Claire shook her head, numb. Her voice a distant shell of itself. “No. No, I haven’t seen moving trees before.”

“I have once.” Chris went silent and tapped his thumb off his forearm, his gaze focused out on the spectacular view afforded by Lakshan’s family. “A few years ago. There was snow there, too.”  
  
God, she didn’t have to look at Jill to know what would be in the woman’s eyes. She could fucking feel it crawl all over her.  
  
“Are you okay?” Jill went to touch her, but stopped right before contact was made and She watched the woman’s fingers curl away.  
  
Claire lifted her gaze to see Jill realise what she’d just done. Shame and regret coloured the woman’s cheeks a rosy pink while eyelids fell shut for a moment.  
  
She was on her feet before Jill said anything else. A bright smile pulled both corners of her lips all the way up. “Never better, actually. Staying in luxury tends to put being kidnapped into perspective. So as I was going to say. Lakshan and I will stick to the plan of us driving to D.C. You know how drives always clear my head.”

Jill reached out. “I-I’m sor…”  
  
Claire shook it off even as total fucking _hurt_ poked at the back of her eyeballs.

She would tell them nothing.


	8. Hot Wears Dirty Panties.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the Kudos, Ckleo! Hope you’re thoroughly enjoying it and that my future chapters don’t leave you bored to tears! And Katy, your comment has absolutely made my day! Thank you so, so much for reading and for commenting and I hope to the stars you continue to enjoy it :D
> 
> As WhyWhyNot pointed out, I need to clear up the science from chapter 7 to avoid confusion in later chapters when it comes to doling out the science.
> 
> Our common DNA (deoxyribonucleic acid) with bananas, as well as chimps (98.8%) and cows (80%), is within the sequence of our Double Helix. 60% of our Double Helix sequence is the same as a banana! This DNA is known as ‘silent’ DNA and because it’s silent, it isn’t involved in our coding process. It does, however, make for an excellent disguise in a smart virus ;)
> 
> J xxx

Title: Code: Project AURORA chapter 8  
Author: Judyku A03, DeadlyFriend FFnet/Sunnyjude LJ  
Summary: Smart viruses are a helluva thing.  
Genre: Drama, horror, romance, smut, and humour.  
Pairings: Claire/Leon, Chris/Jill, with implications of others.  
Rating: NC21. Explicit sex in later chapters. Bad, bad language. Scenes of explicit violence and gore.  
Warnings: Character death. Implied alcohol abuse. Implied child abuse. Cannibalism.  
Original Characters: Lakshan Bhandari, a 33-year-old genius who works at Johns Hopkins, a biomedical engineer with a background in virology and Infectious Diseases. Creator of the C-Veronica Zero smart virus. Tyrannos, a T-103 Tyrant programmed to be Claire's bodyguard.

 

Hot Wears Dirty Panties.

  
xxx  


Smoke clouded out in front of her as she leaned back in the plush seat, one shapely leg slid over the other and she offhandedly watched her toes flex.

The split in her skirt attracted quite a lot of attention from the pliable sex, who were more than willing to overlook any sin. So long as there was the promise of even just a taste of easy sex, men were often happy to fulfil her needs.  
  
A drink or intelligence, it didn’t particularly matter to them and the only thing which mattered to her was a successful outcome to her mission. And if the way to success was to screw, then so be it. After all, the mix of business with pleasure always sweetened the deal at the end of the day and she couldn’t complain.  
  
Ada Wong lazily stirred her martini with a cocktail stick as she listened to a grown man weep and sniffle over a telephone.

“I’m very sorry to hear that, doctor Matiass.” She twirled the thin wooden stick between her fingers. “Yes, I remember how much you love your Countess. How such a man as doctor Bhandari would kidnap her from you. You must be so terribly worried for her safety.”

As expected, the wretched man put an end to his ridiculous snivelling the moment she mentioned the safety of another. Any woman would thank her lucky stars to land a catch like Aric Matiass.

 _“He burned everything…”_ The man sobbed in great, big sobs that heaved like nails on a chalkboard.

Ada felt her humour slip from her face at this. “What do you mean he burned everything?”

 _“Everything. Gone. He set fire to the laboratory and destroyed all of the notes and research. She must be returned, Mz Wong. I am unable to live without her. I am truly nothing without her.”_ Matiass once again broke down into a tsunami of tears.  
  
Her hand squeezed the phone receiver tightly and she stared straight ahead, unimpressed. Everything on the Veronica smart virus now only existed in the head of Lakshan Bhandari. The host, if still alive, could be used to provide samples in the form of DNA and blood. If the heroic doctor hadn’t contaminated the host, of course.

Fuck.  
  
Wesker would be furious.  
  
“While I would dearly love to be of assistance to you, doctor Matiass,” Ada took a drag of her cigarette and rolled her foot. “Finding people is not my forte.”

The man blubbed incessantly. _“But you must, Mz Wong. You simply must help me. The Countess… Me… Oh, please won’t you help me. I have lost everything.”_

She leaned away when the man blew his nose and rolled her eyes. To think, someone, somewhere, at some point in history, had slept with this moron. “Doctor Matiass, while I did acquire your prior samples of both the T-Veronica Zero 2 and the C-Virus, I’m not entirely sure of your expectations…”

There was a short pause and then…  
  
_“Wahhhhhhh…”_ The wail, she was pretty damn sure, hit a note not yet discovered by bats. _“I will pay you, Mz Wong. Two million dollars cash on the safe return of my dearest Veronica.”_

Ada’s eyebrows arched with extreme interest. Two million dollars in cash could buy many things. Like her invaluable assistance for one. “That is an awfully big sum, doctor Matiass. You place a lot of trust in me.”

She could hear his bones creak as he nodded and the change in his demeanour was so quick, so abrupt, it disturbed her. That the fellow was psychotic was no surprise to her, but the manner in which he went from one extreme to another simply wasn’t _right_.

_“Oh yes, Mz Wong. I admire you very much. And we have had three mutually beneficial engagements, have we not?”_

“Yes, sir. We certainly have. Allow me to again thank you for your creation. The pheromones have served me extremely well.” Ada made sure to inject a smile into her reply.

Ego oozed out of the speaker holes in the phone. _“I did create them myself, you know. I was one of the founding researchers of the true Umbrella Pharmaceuticals group.”_  
  
“I recall, doctor.” How could she forget?  
  
_“Excellent, excellent.”_ All he needed was to add the name Smithers and he would be good to go.  
  
She inspected her manicure, mildly impressed with the apex placement. Truly, acrylic nails were a godsend for ladies in her line of work. “I’ll need a name and current photograph of the host, doctor.”

 _“I think the name will suffice, Mz Wong.”_ There was a pause and a sound that she didn’t even want to think about. _“Mz Claire Redfield.”_

It was only a lifetime of experience that kept the phone in Ada’s hand and she slowly sat upright, any and all traces of indulgence gone.  
  
Matiass wouldn’t be that stupid, would he? Surely he would have more sense than to target Claire Redfield, sister of hardass BSAA operative, Chris Redfield.

Chris Redfield was the other type of man. The type who couldn’t be swayed or manipulated. He trusted his gut over evidence and was often proved to be right. He was too unpredictable.

The most frightening trait of Chris Redfield was that he didn’t shoot to kill. He shot to _disable_ .  
  
He would take out both kneecaps and the gun hand to leave his enemy defenceless. Unable to fight back, unable to move, unable to betray. He did it without a hint of remorse or a shred of what it meant to be human.

To say Chris Redfield put the shits up her was a fucking understatement.

“I… See.” Her red lips closed around her cigarette and she took the hit straight to her lungs. Held it until the nicotine burned the membrane off of her organs. Unfortunately, the pain may have made her eyes water, but it did nothing to move her into a reality where Matiass wasn’t so goddamn _stupid_ .  
  
_“She was the most suitable to host The Countess. A very charming young lady. Uncommonly beautiful.”_

Ada exhaled as her gaze glanced at her second phone as it lit up.  
  
“I’ll be in touch.” She disconnected one and answered the other.

_“Darling.”_

“Bertie…”  
  
xxxx  
  
Sometimes Lakshan truly wished he was a violent man. A stronger, more aggressive man. A man who commanded respect by way of presence alone. A man who could knock, to quote his best childhood mate, ten bells of shite out of somebody.  
  
Instead, he was a born and bred pacifist. A quiet man who only commanded respect from his peers. A man who couldn’t for the life of him turn a closed fist into a weapon against someone else.  
  
A closed fist could knock on a door for example or win a stuffed toy on the fairground sideshow attraction. A closed fist also held things in a protective cocoon of knuckles and phalanges. Such as the trap and release of a bee or spider.

So many uses and yet so many chose to see only a weapon.

That wasn’t to say Lakshan didn’t understand the reaction of Claire’s brother, Chris. He understood it quite well, in truth. It simply would have been far less painful if Captain Redfield had introduced himself before the fisticuffs flew.

Agent Kennedy, on the other hand.  
  
He recognised the name of Leon Kennedy, only he couldn’t think as to where he knew it from, but no matter. He supposed it would spring to mind eventually. Particularly as it seemed Claire’s friends and family clearly weren’t going to make a move until she did, and that would put them all in close quarters for a few days at least.

A heavy knock was followed by the voice of Captain Redfield himself.  
  
“It’s me, doctor Bhandari. The presumptuous jackass.”  
  
Lakshan stared at his swollen face in the mirror. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“You got a sec?”

A lack of violent nature did not mean he was a pushover. “Bit busy at the moment. Cleaning blood off my face.”

Silence reigned for a moment.  
  
“Look, uh.” Three dull thuds came from outside the bathroom. “I’m not too good with apologies. So there you have it, doc. I shouldn’t have raged at you the way I did.”

Lakshan rinsed the face cloth under the cold water and rang out the excess. Those were not the words of a man like Chris Redfield. “Claire tell you to say that?”

No hesitation. “Yep.”

“Then you’re not sorry.” He grabbed the clean t-shirt and slipped it on, mindful of the oedema that slowly increased in size around his eye. “I never expected you to be sorry, Captain. More forthcoming with your identification would have been preferable. We didn’t know it was you outside of that door.”  
  
_And you, Captain, don’t realise just how much bloody danger you were in. If I hadn’t knocked Claire onto her arse when I did, you could be dead on the doorstep for all I know._

“We expected five kidnappers.”

Lakshan pulled the door open at that. “How on Earth did you get _that_?”

Chris rested a broad shoulder against the door frame and crossed his arms. “Four signature crispy chicken sandwiches, one large chicken and bacon ranch pizza, four hot dogs, four corndogs, a salad, and a Baby Ruth bar. Then a second order for one large meat feast pizza.”

The doctor inwardly cringed. “That would do it.”

“Yep. A funny thing happened on the way here.” The Captain adjusted his stance. “Jill. She was attacked by a tree root. Came right out of the ground. Went right at her. It was the damndest thing.”

Being employed by a psychopath was quite handy when it came to helping him lock down any and all surprise.  
  
Lakshan intentionally jolted his eyebrows. “Quite strange that. Can’t say I’ve experienced anything of the sort here before.”

“I’ve seen it before. Few years back in Antarctica of all places.” Chris stared him down, his face wholly unreadable. “Just thought I’d make a mention of it. You know, since this is a ski lodge. Something like that would be bad for business.”

Lakshan said nothing in response for a moment. That the man clearly had a hunch was crystal clear, yet it wasn’t his place to either confirm or deny those suspicions. “I’ll keep it in mind, Captain.”

Silence ticked by, only broken by the other man’s sigh of surrender.  
  
“You’re not gonna tell me anything, are you?”

“Can’t.” Lakshan stuck to his guns. “Doctor and patient confidentiality. Plus, she’s my mate. Anything she says to me will die with me unless she says otherwise.”

A ghost of a smile flashed once on the face of Chris Redfield. “I fuckin’ hate respecting assholes like you, doc. I want to beat the shit out of you, but... You’re looking out for my sister.”

What he could say, however, was something he hoped would bring the man even a hint of comfort.

“It’s not personal, Captain. You must understand that.” He paused as he considered just how much to say. “Aric Matiass is human. I think that’s a big part of Claire’s struggle right now. Matiass is also extremely sick in a manner I find difficult to acknowledge.”  
  
Captain Redfield’s lips formed complete contempt. “I suppose he thinks it’s justification.”

The doctor shook his head. “Bloody bastard doesn’t know he has it.”

“Has what?”

Revulsion curdled deep in Lakshan’s stomach and he hoped to Sheva the Captain wouldn’t make him speak on it further. “Kuru.”  
  
Chris’ sharp intake of breath was only equalled by the flash of horror that flickered quickly through his gaze.“H-he didn’t get to her.”

“No.” Lakshan took a moment to pull himself together. “I got her out before she was subjected to any of _that_.”

“Christ.” The man scuffed a hand over his beard, then clapped a hand on the doctor’s shoulder. Everything about the fellow was sincere. “And you, doc? You’re doing good? My intel said you’ve been there two years give or take.”

Two years?  
  
Was that how long it had been?  
  
Two bloody years?  
  
His generous brain supplied him with all the months, weeks, hours, and minutes that he’d spent, trapped and under the thumb of a bloody monster. Not to forget a good chunk of that was spent on the cultivation of friendships for the sake of his own sanity. Sanity which slipped through his fingers each time he looked at his patient.  
  
The exhaustion came out of nowhere and left him faint, almost dizzy from the shock of how much of his life had been wasted. His body sagged hard against the wall as his breath became rapid and shallow.  
  
“Whoa there, doc. Up you get. That’s it. Coupla deep breaths.”  
  
Lakshan ran a hand down his mouth and let Captain Redfield put his back against the wall. His chest didn’t half bloody hurt and he leaned down on his thighs while he got the panic attack under some semblance of control.  
  
He focused on Chris until the world finally stood still. “Bollocks. Bloody fucking _bollocks_.”

“That’s the spirit.” Chris approved. “Cuss it out. Less yark on my boots this way.”

It hurt to laugh, but Lakshan laughed until he coughed out a wheeze. The lighter atmosphere between them brought with it a mutual understanding.  
  
The Captain shook his head and Claire’s quirky grin appeared when the man tilted his head.  
  
Lakshan held out his hand, pleased when the fellow took the olive branch. “I doubt you’ll like me much by the end of it, Captain. Lakshan.”

“Chris.” Chris’ smile appeared only to turn bitter, angry. “I’ve been there, doc. I know the right thing can’t always be done. You gotta do what you gotta do. You got my sister out. In one piece.”

“Oh. Oh, bloody hell…” The doctor’s skin positively crawled at the man’s implication. “You sick bastard!”

Chris simply clapped his shoulder and strode back down the hall, gruff laughter and all.  
  
xxxx

Claire looked up just as her brother returned with her doctor on his heels, one shook with laughter and the other looked downright ill. While she’d tried not to eavesdrop too much in order to give her brother a chance to do right by Lakshan, she had picked up his gross joke.  
  
Still, the clear air between her big brother, her hero, and the man who saved her life took the weight of the world off her shoulders. Then she looked to Jill, who still looked chagrined but more relaxed as a whole.  
  
Claire waved off the earlier moment and received a simple nod of acknowledgement.

“Just keeping the girls in the loop.” Barry waggled his phone.    
  
The image of both Sherry and Moira formed a wave of happiness that overrode every undercurrent of torment that flowed through her veins. “Tell them I can’t wait to see them and we’ll go shopping or something. Maybe a weekend to New York with Jill and I, even.”

Claire turned her high hopes onto her brother’s fiance, whose face expressed so much distaste that she had to chuckle.  
  
“You don’t wear half the shit you own.” Jill rolled her eyes but accepted the fact it was a done deal. “Just you and me and the girls. I know some people who can get us Mets tickets.”

Hot tears pricked at her eyes and a nudge to her shoulder had the baby blues of Leon Kennedy and oh. She didn’t see a man with a hardened heart, but that rookie cop from so long ago. The one who got her through a nightmare.

A brush of warmth slowly penetrated her skin and she swallowed as his thumb traced the back of her hand until her fingers flexed. Her eyes closed when one good tug sent her face first into him, his arms wrapped around her good and tight.

Strong fingers fisted the shit out of her hair and Leon pulled back just far enough to press his forehead down on hers. “Christ, kid. Ten fuckin’ weeks.”

“Longer than my usual vacations, I know.”

“Your hair is so long now. Soft.” Leon’s breath ghosted over her nose and his palm slid down to cup her jaw, his fingers still tangled in her hair.

And there it was.

To talk about her new hair length would only make way for more questions, and she simply wasn’t ready for that yet. Jill’s reaction to her brother’s implication still plagued her mind.  
  
She shrugged and eased away until she sat, legs curled and comfortably tucked into the crook of the sofa. All her family could be seen from this angle.

Leon stared at her for a moment before he shook his head. He wiggled his fingers at her, then dove his hand down to where he gripped her ankle. He grinned, so pleased with himself. “Hand cuff.”

“C plus, B minus.” Claire pushed his thigh with her toes and poked out her tongue, her gaze went from each member of her family. She supposed it was now or never. At least now was the time to tell the easy part.

The rest would have to wait until the story was straight between Lakshan and herself.  
  
She sighed and went to the start of it all. “I was...”

 _Claire fixed the wheel in place and took the time to double check the hydro-dipped design. There were no air bubbles, the image had no smears and nor were there any signs of any other defects or mistakes, so she was good to go._  
  
_Def Leppard faintly came from her iPod player and if there was one song in the universe that deserved the word loud, it was Pour Some Sugar On Me. She grinned as she pressed the volume up button until Joe Elliott's voice went straight between her legs._

 _Razzle 'n' a dazzle 'n' a flash a little light  
_ _Television lover, baby, go all night  
_ _Sometime, anytime, sugar me sweet  
_ _Little miss ah innocent sugar me, yeah, yeah…_

_One clean pair of nitrile gloves later saw her with the clear coat in hand as she poured it into her mixer, then mixed in her custom candy. A shade of lilac that would be fucking spectacular over chrome. Into her spray gun it went, the mask went on her face, and off she went, mind full of first place at the D.C Custom Cruisers competition next month._

_Claire worked fluidly, expertly, as she directed the flow from her spray gun over the alloy until the first coat was done. A half hour of dry time would be long enough for a cup of coffee before she went in to finish the detail._

_“Miss Claire Redfield?” Came the voice of a potential customer._  
  
She slipped off her mask and turned, surprised to see three men in her garage. Last time three men in suits appeared like this? She ended up in a four-season contract with Ducati. “Hi, there! How can I help you two _fine gentlemen?”_

_One of the men, no older than forty, moved to stand in front of her with his hand held out for her to shake. “Good afternoon, ma’am. My name is you’re coming with us._

_Her peripheral vision caught sight of the third man with the remote control to her garage and a second later, the mechanical door began to lower._

_Claire started and subtly inched to where the wheel table stood. A table that held a good few impromptu weapons. Like her heavy duty pipe wrenches, for example. “What is this?”_

_“If we may have a moment of your time?” His grin was feral and his teeth reminded her of polished white porcelain._

_She didn’t stop to think anything more. Just snatched her biggest and heaviest pipe wrench as fast as she could and built momentum with one fast spin._  
  
_Solid metal collided with his skull and ruptured the fucker wide open. Claire smashed the wrench off his head, again and again, each dull thud louder than the last. Rage flared into adrenaline that didn’t stop until he went down like a sack of shit, his eyes were lifeless and his blonde hair a rich shade of red._  
_  
A sharply boned fist smashed hard off her jaw and she grunted as the side of her face throbbed into numbness. A second punch contained force enough to spray blood out of her mouth and agony stabbed razors between her ribs._

 _The third blow went unfelt until her knees cracked off the hard cement floor. Bile coiled tight in her stomach as her head felt too big for her shoulders and her whole world turned on its axis._  
  
_Claire managed to roll onto her back, her entire body fetal from cramped muscles and she stared up through wet eyes. One of the men stood over with features contorted into hate._  
_  
His thin lips moved, yet she heard none of his words and not until she saw the needle and not until she felt her body scream did she realise she had gone deaf._

“...And the next thing I know? Lakshan’s right above me asking how many fingers can I see.” Claire finished on a yawn. She was beyond exhausted and laid her head down on the sofa arm, a warm expression directed to the doctor who had saved her life.  
  
Lakshan waved her off, his expression unreadable. “You alright there, mate?”

“Mmm.” Hell, but she felt drained in a way that turned her legs and arms into a solid lead so heavy, she couldn’t move them nary an inch and she blinked. A blink that lasted forever and she heard them all as they talked around her, their voices increased in volume even as their distance grew wider.

The ceiling seemed to inhale itself, which was as weird as it sounded. Though it was no weirder to how she couldn’t feel a thing under her, so she had clearly levitated, right? Or maybe she was underwater, but that didn't feel right, either.

Hard knuckles rubbed over her upper chest and Claire opened her eyes in time to see two Lakshan Bhandaris be swallowed by a black hole.

“I’m Claire. Claire Redfield. I came to find my brother, Chris.”


	9. Evidently, So

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so, so sorry this took ages to upload! My Reddit thread blew up with silver and gold being awarded to me, so I ended up with a zillion comments that needed a response.
> 
> Anyway, here is chapter 9, and it's the beginning of the middle!
> 
> Thank you again for all of the Kudos and feedback. I hope you all continue to enjoy this story, which is just about to kick off *grins*
> 
> J xxx

Title: Code: Project AURORA chapter 9  
Author: Judyku A03, DeadlyFriend FFnet/Sunnyjude LJ  
Summary: Smart viruses are a helluva thing.  
Genre: Drama, horror, romance, smut, and humour.  
Pairings: Claire/Leon, Chris/Jill, with implications of others.  
Rating: NC21. Explicit sex in later chapters. Bad, bad language. Scenes of explicit violence and gore.  
Warnings: Character death. Implied alcohol abuse. Implied child abuse. Cannibalism.  
Original Characters: Lakshan Bhandari, a 33-year-old genius who works at Johns Hopkins, a biomedical engineer with a background in virology and Infectious Diseases. Creator of the C-Veronica Zero smart virus. Tyrannos, a T-103 Tyrant programmed to be Claire's bodyguard.

  


Evidently, So.

xx  


Six hours.  
  
That was how long she could now go without food before her brain functionality was reduced to the bare minimum. Apparently, all she had done was repeat her own name over and over.   
  
Which meant for the last hour, Jill and Lakshan took turns at pouring sips of soup down her throat. Now it was her brother’s shift it seemed and there weren’t words to cover how embarrassing it felt to have people feed her. Especially her big brother.   
  
Though it could be worse, she supposed. It could be Leon in here. Which would never happen because she would rather jump out a window than have him see her in such a vulnerable state. Not when he’d only ever seen her fit and healthy.   
  
“C’mon, Claire…” Her brother tried, but she ignored him in favour of another attempt at feeding herself.

Claire tried to stop her hands from shaking as she ate, but it was no use. She’d gone too long without food and it was clear that whatever happened earlier had left her high and dry. Now here she was, shaking and shivering and unable to hold the spoon enough in order to eat her damn soup.  
  
“Just let me help.” Her brother sighed, obviously frustrated.   
  
“I’m not an invalid. I can eat it myself.” She went to prove it and lifted her spoon again. Her fingers thrummed numbly around the handle as her arms quivered from the shoulder down. Liquid splashed over the lap tray and on her face before the spoon fully slipped out her hand.   
  
Frustration came out on a quiet scream made coarse from the lack of food over seven hours.   
  
“Don’t be so stubborn.” Chris half growled in frustration   
  
Claire groaned as her head fell back against the headboard and she surrendered to yet another new fact of her life. Hunger now came with involuntary shaking and an inability to eat because her extremities were number.   
  
“Alright, alright.” She grouched and glanced at her brother. “One choo choo out of you, Bart, and your ass is grass.”   
  
Her brother mocked a quiver of fear. “Ooh, the nickname. I’m shaking in my socks.”   
  
“That was instant karma, you know. Lakshan and I yarking on you two?” She couldn’t help the snort of laughter at that, only to have the image of so much vomit creep up from nowhere. Her cheeks ballooned and deflated as the memory came and went.   
  
Chris smirked and jabbed out a gesture with her spoon. “And so was that.”

“ _And so was that._ ” Claire mimicked him, her middle finger held up for a shaky bird flip. She dropped her hands back down and sighed, her mouth dutifully opened for the millionth spoonful of soup. It was a tasty soup, full of beef and vegetables and just the right amount of season, but so much liquid food began to have an impact in the form of muscle cramp.   
  
Chris paused. “You okay? You need me to drag the doc in here?”   
  
Pained stomach muscles loosened after a moment and she blew out an exhausted breath. “No, no. I’m fine, really. Just a little cramp is all. Kinda hungry if you missed the memo.”

Her brother raised the spoon a second time. “It won’t be long now.”  
  
Claire nodded before she swallowed her soup a second time, then tried once more she tried to keep her arms still only to fail miserably. The more she shook, the more ravenous she got, the more obvious it became that she wasn’t wholly human anymore.   
  
“Something you want to tell me, Lisa?” Chris offered another spoonful of the soup she was slowly starting to despise.   
  
She swallowed with a cringe. No more soup after this. Ever. “Lisa, huh? I’m literally shaking in my socks.”   
  
“I kinda know already, you know? About you.” Her brother stirred the liquid evil and the screeched of metal on ceramic just freaking grated over her damn nerves.   
  
Claire’s jaw slightly dropped as she stared him, half pissed and half relieved. Still, it was a pretty mean thing to do. Just drop it on her that he already knew. What a total douche thing to do and to his own sister no less.   
  
“Why do you always do this? Why do you have to, like, steal my thunder? I have something big to say and here comes Chris. Duh duh duh I know everything duh duh duh. God!” She petulantly threw herself back against the headboard and sulked.   
  
“So tell me, then!” Chris openly glared.   
  
“I can’t now because you’ve ruined it.”   
  
“ _I’ve_ ruined it?” The spoon jabbed sharply off her mouth.   
  
“You are soooo cruisin’ for a bruisin’.” Claire gave her most annoying smile ever. The one she had saved for just the right time. She leaned forward to make it extra special. “And I can do that now. I could _totes_ kick your ass.”   
  
“You actually think you can kick my ass. You? _Hehhehheh!_ ” Her brother gave her such a look of pure condescension that she would have knocked him clean out if she wasn’t shaking like a leaf on crack.   
  
She arched a single eyebrow and met her brother’s gaze dead on. “I don’t think, I _know_ . And here’s somethin’ else. I could probably kick Wesker’s ass, too. You can’t do that. Heh. Heh. Heh.”   
  
“Is that right?”   
  
Claire poked her brother’s chest with a shaky finger. “I’m a Tyrant now. I mean, it’s not a big deal or anything. I’m still, you know, _me_ and everything. So yeah. Your ass? Would be grass.”   
  
She sat back, smug and victorious as Chris met her gaze and she waited for his outburst, for his oh fuck moment. Only she waited. Then waited some more.   
  
Impatience prickled at the nape of her neck and her toes wiggled under the luxuriously cotton sheets as she attempted to hide just how irritated she was with her brother. Whether he would admit to it or not, he had completely ruined her bomb drop.   
  
“Yeah. I know.” He said and he resumed the task of helping her to eat.   
  
“What the… Hey!” Claire screeched, so very insulted that he could brush her off like it was nothing. “ _How?_ ”   
  
Chris stared at her for a moment before a loud gruff chortle came out rougher than sandpaper. “I love you. You’re my sister. Of course I love you, but really? You were witnessed ordering half the menu at a Kum and Go…”   
  
“Well, maybe I was just hungry!” She exclaimed wide mouth and wider-eyed.   
  
Her brother rolled his eyes. The spoon put into the bowl so he could tick off his fingers one by one. “You were in an Umbrella lab for ten weeks. The tree roots came at us defensively. Your hair was shoulder length when I saw you last. Your hair is now at your elbows.”   
  
“What?”   
  
That couldn’t be right.   
  
Claire quickly combed her fingers through her hair watched the red waves tumble down in a ragged mess to damn near her elbows. She straightened it as much as possible. Just to see how much the curl shortened the length, but it wasn’t as much as she thought.   
  
“This can’t be right.” She stared down at the strands now held between her fingers. “Lakshan. One of his order was to put me on two cycles of aggressive chemo…”   
  
“Chemo- _Chemotherapy?_ ” Chris lost every ounce of good humour and enjoyment he got out of her sulk. Anger swirled in those dark blue eyes, _mom’_ s eyes, and she watched it grow and spread and turn his body to stone.   
  
Claire grasped onto his arm, the muscle tense under her trembling palm. “Don’t blame Lakshan, Chris. He did the best he could. I swear he did. You don’t know what he risked to do what he did. What he’s lost. What families the world over have lost in his breakthrough for Alzheimer’s. Chris, please.”   
  
The warm feel of his strong hand over hers threatened to bring tears to her eyes as he patted out comfort. “I know, Clairepto. I know we haven’t had time to talk this mess through. Don’t worry, m'kay? We Redfields are made of some good shit. We’ll make this look easy.”   
  
She had never understood how he could manage to make her laugh even through her tears and she probably never would. Not that it mattered. “You’re the best, you know that?”   
  
“Damn straight.” He grinned and suddenly things weren’t so bad anymore.   
  
Claire hugged her hero’s arm quickly and tightly, breathed in the familiar scent of her brother, of family, and committed it to memory. Confidence came hot on its heels and she pulled back to beam up at him, her lower pout bitten by blunt teeth as she took a deep breath.   
  
“I-I think I want to tell them, Chris. In fact, I’d like to tell my friends. My family.” A mischievous smile played at her lips.   
  
Chris looked at her in total disgust. “So, you’re just gonna tell ‘em without even making a play on it? Do I even know you?”   
  
She studied her brother cooly, calmly even as wicked delight sparked through her veins. “What did you have in mind?”   
  
He glanced over his shoulder to check nobody could hear and turned back to her, his voice lowered. “We do this? We do it my way.”   
  
A smile broke out over her face and she clapped excitedly. “I’m listening…”   
  
“Okay, this is our play…”

 

xxxx

 

Locate Claire in Colorado.  
  
Let Redfield and Valentine hold the assholes down.   
  
Burton would clear the house.   
  
Agent Kennedy would rescue the fair maiden…   
  
Then Agent Kennedy would stand and watch while Claire remodelled a few faces with her fist.   
  
Agent Kennedy would then escort Claire to the van, smother her with puns and charm until she was okay again. Redfield and Burton partake in some tough ass interrogating before Agent Kennedy got to do some interrogating of his own.

And he had plans for that, too. All good plans. Plans that wouldn’t even bruise for crissakes. He’d be a good boy and hold off on the brutality until the asswipe said something that wasn’t too nice, then he would beat the fucking shit out of them.  
  
It was fairly standard as far as missions went and just like every standard mission he went on, it all turned to jizz.

They found Claire easy enough.  
  
Hungover in a log cabin worth over a mill and with her was some kind of genius doctor called Lakshan Bhandari PhfuckingD.  
  
_Alcohol, cosy log cabin, hot Indian doctor guy with designer stubble and a healthy trust fund?_ _Yeah, she’d been in real danger alright. Of sexy Indian doctor’s bedside manner. “My patient has had a severe drop in blood sugar. She needs some food.” Since when did blood sugar drops need shoulder touching? Please. He just wants to get in her panties._  
  
It was enough to make him sick.

Didn’t any of them give a damn that the guy worked for Umbrella? The same Umbrella that turned people into zombies and fucking unbeatable Tyrants?

Cos from where he sat, in a corner of the sofa with a cooling cup of coffee in his hands, that was pretty much all it took to get into Chris Redfield’s Circle of Trust.

Some ass hat learned Claire’s routine. Learned it well enough to hit her when she would be most distracted, most vulnerable. Unarmed, listening to loud rock on her stone-age stereo. Focused on that damn bike of hers.

Shit like that took months, not days or weeks. Months.

Somebody had their eye on her for a good three to four months before shit ever hit the fan, so yeah. Whoever put a target on Claire’s back went to a helluva lot of effort to make it happen and that doctor, that Lakshan Bhandari, knew something. Maybe not everything, which was fair he supposed, but the guy sure as shit knew more than he let on.

They should have charged the doctor by now with kidnapping, bioterrorism, going against the Hippocratic Oath to do no harm, but what were they doing instead? Entertaining the doctor with stories about Claire’s childhood.

He wondered if anyone remembered earlier. When they were all attacked by tree roots and Valentine got her leg cut up?

Umbrella virologist in close quarters to killer plants?

_Don’t need to be genius to work that one out, but hey. Let’s all shake hands and make promises to start a Secret Santa. Hello, unconscious girl in the bedroom. Anybody remember when she got kidnapped?_

Leon took a gulp of coffee as he offhandedly listened to the stories go round, with juicy pearls of hilarity offered from Barry and Jill to their new buddy, Lakshan Bhandari.

“Hey, doc?” He mapped out the route in his head and clamped both hands on the wheel in order to control the direction of the conversation. “How’s about you regale us with the tale of your dramatic escape?”  
  
The doctor blinked at the sudden change in subject. “There’s not much to tell in truth, Agent Kennedy. I set fire to my laboratory and the fire alarm went off. We pretty much walked right out of the front door during the chaos. A friend of mine bought us some extra time. Fred his name is. Claire met him.”   
  
Fred, huh? 

“Sounds like a swell guy. Cheers to Fred and his extra time.” Leon raised his coffee in a toast. “Intel says you’ve been there for, what, almost two years. Why didn’t you set fire to your lab before your escape?”  
  
“Quite simple, innit?” PeehD shrugged as though hanging out in a hub for bioterrorists was an everyday occurrence. “You don’t know the morals of anyone but yourself. I… Got wind Matiass already had a non-dominant T-Veronica virus taken from the only person rumoured to gain control over it before death, I couldn’t stand idly by. So I stayed, made friends, I greased some palms. Put myself into the position that gave me full control over the T-Veronica virus _before_ its use.”   
  
Contempt rolled through the agent. If there was one thing Leon hated, it was arrogance. “So _your_ moral compass is better than the others?”   
  
“We all like to think so, don’t we, Agent Kennedy?” The doctor gave a bitter smile. “I’m not proud of the actions I had to take. I know I have bad karma coming my way. I started out with two choices and my actions, as disgusting as they sound, created a third option. I took the third option which was to stay and oversee the AURORA project from start to finish.”   
  
“The AURORA project?” Barry half chuckled. “What? Was this Matiass trying to create his own Disney princess?”   
  
PeehD’s smile turned quirky. “More a countess than a princess. People will always agree with you if they think they came up with it.”   
  
Barry huffed out a deep laugh. “Ain’t that the truth.”   
  
“Wesker…”   
  
Leon glanced at Jill, who was clearly onto something. “You got something?”   
  
The brunette tapped her lower lip with her thumb for a moment before she spoke. “Possibly. I need some info from Chris and Claire before I join the dots. Do you have anything we can use, doctor? Cold, hard proof that we can take to the BSAA and get the ball rolling on bringing some justice for once?”   
  
PeehD beamed away any and all traces of bitter guilt. “Now that, Miss Valentine? That I bloody do. Bank accounts with sort codes, plus several financial transactions that involve the sale of two viruses. Including the original T-Veronica virus.”   
  
“Well, shit.” Barry slapped his thighs. “Then you got names.”   
  
“Yes. Buyers, sellers, middlemen who run between buyers and militia.” The doctor stopped as though hesitant to say more about what he had.   
  
“You’re among friends, doc.” Barry encouraged.   
  
“It’s not useable in court since it was illegally gained, but…” PisshD shifted. “Well, I hacked, didn’t I? To find out what some of those millions went on? Land grabs in rural Asia known for resources such as raw metals and ore, arms, diamonds.”   
  
Jill scrubbed at her tired face as bitterness fell from her tongue. “That’s what it’s about, isn’t it? Greener pastures. People making money from raping other people of their humanity. Maybe Claire and Bec have the right of it. Hit the fuckers in their pockets. Lower the value of human existence to where it’s just not worth a fuckin’ dime.”   
  
“That’s the problem, ain’t it?” Barry shook his head and looked at them all. “They don’t see folk as anything but an asset. Somethin’ to be used as and when.”   
  
PisshD nodded. “Pretty much. The bigger the sample size, the more variety of mutations, the more a virus is worth to buyers and sellers.”   
  
Jill gawked. “Mutations like zombie, licker, tyrant… You’re saying a virus is no longer worth as much if all it does is create zombies. But that same virus increases in value if it makes people mutate into different creatures?”   
  
“That’s precisely what I’m saying. And a new m...Claire! I’ll go pour you a coffee, mate.” Pissface had stones enough to hug her on the way to the kitchen.   
  
Leon watched him go before he set his eyes on his very favourite person in the fucking world. When she wasn’t skipping out on him, of course, but whatever. That was in the past and she was here now and looked…

Like hell. All wrapped up warm in two blankets, yet he could her shivering under them both. Her creamed skin looked half ghostly in contrast to the rich mahogany hair the fell down over her shoulders to skim her elbows.  
  
“Damn, girl.” She better sit down before she fell down and he made just enough room for her to sit next to him. “You look like shit.”

Claire snorted as she curled up in a corner of the sofa, dainty fingers clutched the blankets tight around her. “I can always rely on you for a bite of reality. Thanks.”  
  
“Any time, Kid.” Leon slapped his thigh and made a point to give his best smile at Redfield as he loudly dumped his firm ass less than an inch away from his girl.   
  
_That’s right, folks. Claire and Leon. Suck it up._   
  
Chris rolled his eyes and perched on the sofa arm.   
  
“What are we talking about?” Claire nosed. “Cos I thought I heard the word _Tyrant_ ...”   
  
Leon shrugged, then grinned as he stretched his arm over her shoulders just so and holy shit. Her entire body shook from head to toe in a way that made the freaking sofa vibrate in response. “Bhandari’s evidence and how Tilly an’ me are gonna wipe every fuckin’ Tyrant off the planet cos the only good Tyrant is a dead Tyrant. Pew pew pew.” Leon made a gun out of fingers and thumb and closed one eye as he played pretend.   
  
_Heh heh heh._   
  
“And the people who make all those millions selling these viruses? The ones doc has on record?” Chris stared at him, eyes that were ice cold and diamond hard. “Are you going to kill _every single one_ those, as well?”   
  
Leon glanced between the siblings and wondered if they were bluffing in order to protect Bhandari for some reason. “You’ve seen it? The evidence?”   
  
“I have.” Claire’s voice came out almost too soft to hear at first, then grew stronger when her brother gave her shoulder a squeeze. “I have seen it. Some of it, at least.”   
  
He stopped, his gaze fully on her pale face as it dawned on him that Bhandari’s elusive evidence was here, inside the very cabin. All those names, bank account details, expenditures… The whole damn lot of it was right under his damn nose.   
  
_And Claire says she’s seen those names. Shit._   
  
“Wait, wait, wait.” Leon sat upright as disbelief came on a tapestry of emotions that were all held together by the dull thread of apprehension. “You have that evidence right here. In this cabin. Evidence that I could take directly to the fucking president _tonight_ . Evidence that could get a lot of those fucking viruses out of enemy hands. And you use it as a bargaining chip.”   
  
“Leon…”   
  
He ignored Claire as she tried to get his attention. She clearly suffered from Stockholm or some shit like that to be so protective of Bhandari. Fuck, but he was _livid_ .   
  
Leon took several very deep, very even breaths that did nothing to control the fury that now burned through his veins at a mile per minute. “You probably got a ton of demands for that shit, right? Hell, I know I would. What are they, huh?”   
  
“Leon! Leon, stop.”   
  
He looked at her then as she sat, huddled and shaking and so damn pale, that his anger eased just enough. “He gave you chemo, Claire. He hurt you.”   
  
“He had no choice, don’t you get that?” She argued right back. “Have you even asked him what it was like for him there or have you just been trying to pick a fight?”   
  
“He’s been trying to pick a fight,” Jill stated from across the room.   
  
“You’re not a dumbass, Kennedy.” Chris clearly saw it was his turn now. “You know what Kuru is, right? The bacteria that comes from cannibalism. His human boss is eating people.”   
  
Leon sucked in a breath sharp enough to stab his lungs with a level of shock that threatened to knock him clean on his ass. That word, Kuru, rang his ears over and over, but he couldn’t wrap his head around what that meant. Not until Claire’s pale face eased once more into his line of sight and then it hit him with the force of a ten-ton Tyrant.   
  
He watched her watch him, those eyes of hers so damn disappointed in him, and he knew he’d let her down in a way that would take a long time to make right.   
  
“He didn’t… You weren’t…” Christ, but he couldn’t even think about her being subjected to that.   
  
Claire’s anger softened just enough to give him some relief. She slowly stood with the help of her brother. “No. Lakshan got me out before Matiass could make an eternal meal out of me. That was his plan, Leon. Infect me with enough stem cells so my tissue would repair and regenerate. _You_ work it out since you’re such a hotshot special agent and all.”   
  
A loud knock on the door put an end to the discussion and Leon blinked out of his zone and watched as everyone stood, their hands in their pockets. A bunch of fifty buck notes went into the pot until at least two-fifty bucks were exchanged for an amount of food that was just obscene.   
  
Leon watched bags get passed between the former STARS team and the doctor, who now looked like a coronary waiting to happen. Shit, shit, and double shit.   
  
“I’d like to eat in the garage, Lakshan.” Claire gestured to the staircase a few feet away.   
  
“Claire…”   
  
She stopped and for a minute, Leon’s hopes shot out of his fucking ass. “When sticks are thrown, the dog who yelps is the one that got hit. You might wanna read into that.”   



	10. Earth's Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to meet Doctor Aric Matiass and learn a little more about the AURORA Project...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't even begin to thank my pal Jake for what he's put up with from me over this chapter! So dish out some cushy applause his way while I throw wads of gratitude for putting up with my insane level of indecisiveness!

Title: Code: Project AURORA chapter 10  
Author: Judyku A03, DeadlyFriend FFnet/Sunnyjude LJ  
Summary: Smart viruses are a helluva thing.  
Genre: Drama, horror, romance, smut, and humour.  
Pairings: Claire/Leon, Chris/Jill, with implications of others.  
Rating: NC21. Explicit sex in later chapters. Bad, bad language. Scenes of explicit violence and gore.  
Warnings: Character death. Implied alcohol abuse. Implied child abuse. Cannibalism.  
Original Characters: Lakshan Bhandari, a 33-year-old genius who works at Johns Hopkins, a biomedical engineer with a background in virology and Infectious Diseases. Creator of the C-Veronica Zero smart virus. Tyrannos, a T-103 Tyrant programmed to be Claire's bodyguard.   
  
  
  
Earth's Angel

  
  


The second light hit the sky was the second Leon was up and out of the damn cabin, a sharp yank snapped the door firmly shut behind him.

He didn’t wait to hear if they tried to stop him or make him go back, because fuck ‘em. Fuck every last asshole in that fancy ass place. If they wanted to side with Umbrella like that? Then, fine. Side with Bhandari they could, but he sure as shit refused to be a part of it. Not when it would all smash down around their ankles.

Yeah, he could be a sonofabitch at times and he wasn’t all too quick off the mark, either, but people? He knew people and he especially knew people like Lakshan Bhandari. They were a dime a dozen in his line of work.

Yeah, well.

Whatever.   
  
Some people would only learn the hard way and sure it sucked Claire would be one of ‘em, but hey. If she wanted to hang with the guy who filled her full of chemo, then that was her choice.

It hurt to leave her behind, but hell if she didn’t leave him first. So this marked the second time she turned her back on him. A third time if he counted Harvardville, which he couldn’t since she was pretty much at work with TerraSave.   
  
He didn’t know why she took it so personal anyway. Hell, he didn’t know why she’d been so damn cagey or why she was so determined to hedge around questions. And who the fuck ate takeout in a garage for that matter, huh?

It was like Claire didn’t trust him or something and then he stopped, an abrupt laugh of realisation puffed out and clouded around him in a thin mist of incredulity.

No.

Not like.

She didn’t trust him.   
  
Claire didn’t trust him, not completely, and that freaking hurt. What? Did she, like, think he would turn her over to the Feds for doing some frowned upon shit or something? Or maybe she thought he’d look at her in disgust for whatever reason known only to her? Or maybe she just protected that dumbass doctor because of this so-called evidence?

Not that it made any difference either way.   
  
Claire didn’t trust him after everything they’d been through together? Fine. He would go his own way now that he didn’t have to worry about her since she clearly had no need of him now. Not when she had  _ Lakshan _ .   
  
Leon slipped his phone out of his pocket and grinned at the perfect signal. One of the better perks of being a special agent was his satellite connection gave him full bars wherever he was and any given moment. Which meant one quick Google search and he had the flight list from Denver to Vegas in front of his very eyes.   
  
His thumb was about to hit up on that  _ book now _ button when his phone vibrated right there in the palm of his hand, the screen displayed unknown number.   
  
A slick grin curled his lips up as he pressed answer and when that oh so familiar, cock lifting voice came through the speaker…   
  
Well.   
  
Vegas, hookers, and booze weren’t the only options for a good time on vacation.   
  
“You’ve reached the Wong arm of the law.” Leon mentally sent a big fuck you to the image of Claire in his head.   
  
_ Let’s see which dog yelps with this stick, Redfield. _   
  
xxxx   
  
Ada tapped her cigarette off the edge of her ashtray as she offhandedly watched Wesker slowly twirl a pen between his fingers.   
  
Bertie Wesker handling pointy things put her on edge, particularly when he appeared to be so enthralled by his potential weapon. Lucky for her, then, that her death would leave without a valuable asset in his quest to be a god. Yet even with that thought in mind, it was nothing short of stupidity to have blind trust in a monster who wore a man’s face.   
  
“You’re in a good mood.” She caught her own reflection in those Ray Ban Chromance sunglasses.   
  
_ “I am now.” _ It was only too easy to read the agent’s moods these days.   
  
“Twenty questions, Handsome?” Bare lips curved up and she pressed them together to make just the round amount of stick for sound effects. Let the Agent think she was simply going about a morning routine of lipstick application.   
  
_ “You n’ I both know there’s only one question. When and where?” _   When a good boy like Agent Leon Kennedy let slipped even an inch into bad boy sexual aggression? Chances were high he felt deeply insulted, but then she supposed it was just one of his flaws. 

The more sexually aggressive he was? The deeper the cut. And with Leon Kennedy? That cut often meant something he didn’t want to acknowledge. So he would give in to his anger and let all that pent up volatility dictate his actions until he was left feeling nothing but guilt and self-loathing.

She wondered what had cut him deep enough to completely knock the boy scout down.    
  
“That depends.” She paused to take a long drag of her smoke and blew it straight in Wesker’s face. “How soon can you reach the Big Apple?”   
  
_ “A few hours give or take. You?” _ So, her little informant was with the former S.T.A.R.S team.   
  
“A few hours give or take.” Ada mimicked and tapped her cigarette ash into her tray. “How about it, Handsome? You, me, the Ty Warner Penthouse suite in New York City?”   
  
Leon was a good boy at heart and like all good boys, he had been taught the value of a dollar.   
  
_ “That shit’s pricey. Fifty thou a night. Living dangerously has benefits, but damn. I still wanna buy a house this century.” _   
  
He always knew just what to say to make her heart skip a beat and simultaneously roll her eyes. Unlike her inside man, she had no qualms at all about spending money. Not since freelance theft provided as well as it did.   
  
“Perhaps a dirty motel is more your style, Agent Kennedy.” Ada clipped his surname off. Just to see how far into the trenches he was. “But I would much rather be screwed while I have the pleasure of the city skyline. Consider it my treat. A celebration for my finding my friend’s missing daughter.”

_ “That musta been some kinda pay to knock out fifty gees’s on a hotel room for a night.” _   
  
“What price would you pay to see your little princess home, safe and sound?”   
  
_ “Point to you. So you don’t just peddle B.O.W making viruses. Good to know.” _ He was so fucking adorable in his need to believe her innocence that he would load up on any ammo she gave at the very people who sincerely cared about him. The lone wolf who stood between a woman and a cruel world that deemed her guilty without trial.   
  
_ “This finding missing princesses gig…” _   
  
Now that piqued Ada’s interest. Her little mole was more than merely angry. There had to be a heavy undercurrent of true hurt in her little mole if he gave even a passing thought to retirement.   
  
Definitely a thread worthy of being pulled.   
  
Unfortunately for Leon Kennedy, he was far more useful to her as a Special Agent right now. Perhaps the future would change that. When he was a lot more disillusioned than he was at present.   
  
She had to tread carefully here. “Missing princesses aren’t a regular occurrence for private dicks. “   
  
His sigh was her relief.  _ “I don’t think I’d make a good Private Dick.” _   
  
Her smile returned and she relaxed just a little as she threw the dog a bone of hope with one hand, and took his toy with the other. “Your dick has found hidden depths in me. I know your friends aren’t fond of me or our…”   
  
_ “Friends? I got me no friends, lady. Who cares what they think about you.” _   
  
Ada locked eyes with the sly fox opposite her as he gave her a silent clap for a job well done. “Not even Claire?”   
  
There was nothing quite like the exploitation of a weakness in somebody. Especially when it reduced perfectly good men into excellent information centres.   
  
_ “Nope! Especially not Claire. What can I say? She prefers bad boys and I’m just too nice a guy. Can you believe that?” _ Leon always knew just what to say.   
  
Still, she had to be sure. “Yes. I watch the local news. She’s been found? Is she alright?”   
  
_ A scoff came through loud and clear. “Claire? She was hungover.” _   
  
Old Bertie’s wasn’t immune to the statement it seemed, though he kept his chuckles silent with a single finger pressed to his lips.   
  
Genuine laughter bubbled out of her throat. she would do the same if she woke up a Tyrant after being held captive by a cretin like Aric Matiass. “I can’t say I blame her. Being abducted from your own home is certainly something to drown. Did you find the abductor?”   
  
_ “It’s complicated.” _   
  
So Claire was with Lakshan Bhandari and given the good doctor’s lack of experience in how to hide from the likes of Umbrella, she assumed that both parties were still in Colorado.   
  
“You’re learning, Agent Kennedy.” Ada approved.   
  
Smoke misted over the brochure page that displayed Bhandari’s ski lodge. And Agent Kennedy’s hostile aggression all made sense.   
  
_ “Thanks, miss. Do I get a gold star?” _   
  
Claire Redfield holed up with a fanciable Indian doctor who had been about to revolutionise treatment for Alzheimer’s patients using sound frequencies. Throw in enough alcohol to get the newly minted Tyrant hung over and that cosy ski lodge…   
  
Leon would pop like warm champagne on a winter night.   
  
“I’ll see what I can do. See you tonight, Handsome.”   
  
And with that, Ada clicked the speakerphone off and let herself lounge back in the luxurious chair, her slender legs delicately crossed.   
  
Damn, but she was good at what she did.   
  
Wesker drew his lips back into a snarl of a smile as two dangerous hands gave her a light round of applause. “Very good.”   
  
“Leon Kennedy does have his uses.” A cloud of grey smoke wisped away from her.   
  
Wesker merely smiled. “Quite. Five-hour distances from New York isn’t what I would call direct information.”   
  
“Not if our missing doctor has a property in Aspen.” She pursed her lips for a moment as she considered the Tyrant opposite her. “You met Claire Redfield on Rockfort Island. Tell me, Bertie. What’s your opinion of her?”   
  
“Sizing your competition, darling?” He clearly liked the idea of that, so matter her answer, he would make of it what he would.   
  
“I never underestimate my opponents.”   
  
Leather creaked under the Tyrant’s weight and those deadly fingers replaced the pen with one of her smokes. Fox eyes moved behind those sunglasses and she could feel them roam over her from head to hands.   
  
White teeth gleamed between two pink lips. “Claire Redfield is everything  _ you _ are not.”   
  
“Cheap.” Ada let the statement of fact roll off her tongue without malice.   
  
His laughter came out with all the smoothness of whisky and depth of a cello. “Your hubris will be your downfall, Mz Wong.”   
  
“You have nothing to add.”   
  
“None that you could apprehend. It takes a man to appreciate a woman such as she.”

Oh, she was well aware he knew the level of her understanding. He respected it to a degree. Yet to hear him smear her with the same tar used to paint the uneducated ruffled her feathers just enough, and he knew it.   
  
“A woman mechanic. One who races on the circuit for a global brand. Yes. I can see how she could tempt certain men.” Only not all men, she thought as Leon’s face drifted through her mind.   
  
It was something that kept her warm on the nights she slept alone. That men, married or otherwise, would see her face on the very wives and girlfriends they vowed to cherish.

Mr Whiskers finally lit his cigarette and sat back in the perfect portrayal of a king without a kingdom. “You are little more than a mutt lucky enough to fall into opportunity brought about by her mother's desperate whoring. Your own ambitions amount to nothing beyond what can be earned through theft and open legs."   
  
Hypocrisy didn’t become him in the slightest. “ _ You _ certainly didn’t complain about my lack of pedigree.”   
  
“I needed to know where your limits lay.” Broad shoulders shrugged. “Your willingness to spread the welcome mat was very informative. I wonder what Agent Kennedy would think if he knew we mounted the same bitch in heat.”   
  
His bullet cut her fucking throat wide open.   
  
Ada froze. “You  _ cunt _ .”    
  
“As are all Gods.” Whiskers gestured aimlessly with a large hand.

She pressed both hands on the table between them and leaned forward just so he didn’t misunderstand a single word of her reply. “Fuck. You.”   
  
The weight of her response hung over them like a heavy cloud thick and black with thunder.   
  
He didn’t do a damn thing for a moment and her furious bravado began to slide down her throat to cut off her airways.   
  
Ada eyed him, all pretences kept up as much as possible, only to jerk back in a flinch when his hand snapped out towards her purse. Eighteen-carat yellow gold stood out in a luxurious contrast against the rich black leather of his gloves and she watched it warily, her gaze followed the graceful motion as he held it up for examination.   
  
“Two-thousand and seven. Eighteen carat yellow gold with one-hundred and ninety-nine white diamonds that equal two point two carats. Sixty-two thousand dollars. Custom shade. Beautiful.” Wesker analysed the tube from every angle and held it this way and that.   
  
She blinked and he was behind her, all that cool black leather covered her throat and human-sized fingers squeezed out inhuman strength around her jaw. Slowly the pressure intensified and his palm forced her chin up to where enamel crunched between her teeth and her cigarette dropped to the floor. Noisy grunts flared her nostrils as she tried to breathe in the air her mouth couldn’t.    
  
She stared up at him, terrified at the serenity that radiated off him in waves.  Panic widened her eyes as yellow gold flashed like painted plastic and his solid grip held her down as he slashed jagged butcher lines across her face. Mouth to left ear and over the bridge of her nose, that perfectly waxed point stabbed hard into the soft flesh under her right eye before he zagged it hard to her left temple.

“Disobey me. Fail me. Betray. Me. Again...” A man smiled with all the venom of a fucking viper as chunks of crimson stuck to her eyelashes and gold cut sharp into her head.

"Diamonds and gold mean nothing to a God." Black leather patted her shoulder. "You call her cheap. Think of her as a lowly mechanic. A woman who works with her hands. Even you would trust her without a doubt to fix the brakes on your car. You can't be trusted to fix a cake."

A shove pushed her head forwards and Ada gasped in all the air her lungs could hold while one shaking hand touched her tacky face.

Wesker snagged several tissues to wipe his gloves clean. “I suggest you make yourself presentable for your handsome Agent Kennedy. Make sure he receives the video file of those he left to the wolves."

"And Matiass?" Ada forced her gaze away from the mirror.  
  
"Offer him a seat at your buffet." Humour warmed his face and put a lilt to his voice that grated on her shot nerves. "I'm sure he will appreciate the fine dining."   
  
xxxx   
  
The Princess was an angel.   
  
She had come to him in a dream so long ago, with hair that flowed so beautifully down into a cascade of tempestuous curls and waves. Her smile was so elegant, so gracious, her magnificent wings unfurled as she sang to him in a voice that held the very Heavens in a single note.   
  
The Angel remained at his side and filled his life with guidance from the True Divine and she had not failed him nor lead him from his path of greatness and legend.   
  
Such loyalty must be repaid and he asked of her a simple question.   
  
“My good lady,” asked Aric Matiass. “I am but your humble servant. I must know. How do I repay thee?”   
  
The Angel sang a song of birth and her hands reached out to shroud him in her light.   
  
Aric Matiass knew, then, he would bring the Angel to life. He would give her skin to touch, hair to brush, lungs to breathe, and a voice to sing. He would give her daintiest of feet with which to run and the softest of hands.   
  
Twice now he had been so close to fulfilment and success. Twice he had the very essence of her within his grasp, and twice it had been snatched away from him by children.   
  
The actions of Alexia and her inadequate shadow had been intolerable at best and unspeakable at worst, but this…   
  
This was  _ contemptible _ .   
  
He had not just supported and encouraged doctor Bhandari, but he had provided that boy with everything. Support, laboratory, and staff had been given from one visionary to another, while guidance, knowledge and wisdom had passed from father to son.   
  
A son with all that was needed to be written into books as a true visionary. One of the greatest of minds in modern day history. A man who would be the subject of many a university lecture. A physician who would inspire many others to walk the path Doctor Bhandari built under the tutelage of the esteemed Aric Matiass.  
  
And like all children, Aric Matiass had expected some form of rebellion and mutiny during the more trying years of boyhood, and so preparations began. Old projects had been gifted to his boy for completion, assignments from his university and residency, case studies were all part and parcel of the plan to keep his son out of trouble.  
  
One of those projects was that of Project Aurora.  
  
Alzheimer's occurred when the formation of beta-amyloid plaques and the amalgamation of tau, a toxic protein, caused disruption in the activity pattern of gamma waves.  
  
The groundbreaking research by Lakshan Bhandari discovered that not only did sound, at forty hertz, reestablish the activity pattern in those gamma waves, but also reduced the beta-amyloid and tau. This helped to restore functionality to neural pathways that would otherwise remain a tangle of dysfunctional knots.  
  
Amplified Ultrasound Resonance and non-Operative Remodulation Audio frequencies.   
  
That was the very thing that would breathe life into Aurora, the time had come to find a woman worthy of such an honour. A task that proved far easier than he had ever dreamed possible.  
  
He saw her on television  
  
A beautiful woman with rich auburn  hair that tumbled in wild waves. A magnificent woman who shielded a girl child from the very dregs of Umbrella's self-claimed brilliance.  
  
“Save the children,” her message rang and it was the message of an Angel.    
  
It humbled Aric Matiass to see such boldness and courage, and he watched her. Over and over he watched the footage and the more certain he became that she was The One who would bring Princess Aurora to life.   
  
But how Lakshan fooled them all, how he had swayed and wooed them with all the charm of a silver-tongued serpent. 

Tears rolled down his skeletal face of Aric Matiass and he turned to where the Countess had slept, safe and sound. Were it not for his own blessed percipience, the good lady would have wholly aware of the atrocities about to befall her at the hands of the man who saw to her needs.

A doctor who would betray his father and mentor, a physician of excellent breeding and education who would defy the very oath he once took. A man who would succumb to primitive desires and expose himself as a predator, one who would defile those under his care.   
  
All Aric Matiass could hope for now was the Angel Princess to wake within the throat of Miss Redfield and make all these paltry Biological Organic Weapon viruses obsolete and give him control over every single one.


	11. Author Update!

I haven't forgotten about my story!  
  
My housing association came to survey my house and Asbestos was discovered. Thankfully the Asbestos was undisturbed, so nothing to worry about healthwise. My house is now about to get fully re-wired and they also want to update my kitchen, give me more plug socks at a more accessible height for my wheelchair etc. They're a bit behind schedule, unfortunately, so it will be at least another three-four weeks before I'm settled in my house.  
  
This would have been sorted a month ago, but since there is only my mum and me? Packing up my entire life has taken a while, to say the least! My poor little cats are stressed and don't think they're ever going home! I'm stressed! My mother's stressed! And my medication means I can't even drown my sorrows!  
  
Since it's after 12am and it's another early start in the morning, so I'm now gonna head back to bed. They're coming to take my big furniture items into storage and then I get to choose where I want my plug sockets to go.  
  
Yay!  
  
Much love and hang on in there,  
  
J xxx


End file.
